Wikipedia defines a cancer survivor as “… an individual with cancer of any type, current or past, who is still living.”
I am pretty sure that the definition should be amended to include those who lost a loved one to cancer.
You see, we – my grandparents and sisters and dad, and all of my mom’s good friends and family – we are cancer survivors as well.
We are the leftovers of my mom’s brain cancer.
We are the ones left with picking up the pieces. My mom is gone, but we’re still here, and so many of our daily activities are constant reminders of her death. Whether it’s celebrating my niece’s birthday without my mom – and remembering she was at the previous one – or celebrating my nephew’s birthday – and still feeling slightly shocked that instead of my mother, my dad’s new girlfriend is celebrating with us – these are all symptoms of our survival. (Side note: We really love my dad’s new girlfriend and her sons – but that’s for another post.)
We are the ones who are grieving on a daily basis. The ones who need to figure out where we go from here, what changes we need to make, such as the previously-mentioned deletion of phone numbers and email addresses.
We are the ones who keep having to tell the story. Every time we run into someone who didn’t know my mom was sick and we have to tell them she died, we are survivors all over again. Even though the process isn’t as painful as it was at first, it still isn’t easy. When I speak of my mom as being dead, I am completely disconnected from the words coming out of my mouth. As far as I’m concerned, I could be talking about the rain in Minnesota. Because that’s my way of surviving.
We are the ones who feel the effects of her death every day, even in stupid things like accidentally saying “My mom would love that!” and then feeling bad for the person who heard it because they don’t know what to say.
We’re the ones who can randomly start crying at any given moment (this isn’t as bad as it used to be) and then have to start explaining why. And, of course, feeling bad.
We’re the ones who have lost additional friends – and even family members – because they don’t know what to say to us anymore. Now that our mom died, they’ve simply stopped speaking to us. This has happened on every level of friendship – and even family – that we have.
We are the ones who are labeled. The Ones Whose Mom/Wife/Child/Grandmother Died of Brain Cancer.
We are the ones who are looked upon with pity, both by those who know us and don’t how to talk to us anymore, and those who just find out.
We’re the ones who easily freak out about anything. Every time my words get mixed up or I use a feminine instead of masculine word or get a headache or can’t feel some random part of my body – I flip out, because those were my mom’s symptoms. Yes, I know that it’s not hereditary, and no, I don’t call the doctor about either of them. But just like every sound in my building has been scaring me since the break in last month (for the most part), this is something I can’t change.
My mom’s glioblastoma affected our life profoundly and forever altered who we are. It has changed us in every possible way, and its devastation is felt almost on a daily basis.
The original definition of “cancer survivor” is a positive one; It is one of triumph, one that shows that even though cancer has attacked, people can survive.
I can only assume, then, that we – the friends and family of those who have died – cannot be included in the official definition because we are the negative side of cancer.
But we are, in fact, cancer survivors as well.
November 24, 2009 at 12:15 am
My mom died of skin cancer when I was still in kindergarten. Growing up, its always been a semi-axiomatic fact for me: I have no mother, as hard as the woman married to my father might try.
On the one hand, I’m sorry I never got to meet my mother as an adult (which is something my younger sister has more issues with than me). This is a constant, nagging, void in my life.
But on the other hand, in a weird, sad way, I’m somewhat glad I never really got to experience the process you describe here.
I suppose that its easier this way.
November 26, 2009 at 7:13 pm
I’m happy you didn’t get to experience what we did, but at the same time, I can understand your feelings as well. I think it just means the images in our heads and memories are different, but her loss are the same.
November 26, 2009 at 7:17 pm
I mean the loss is the same.
November 24, 2009 at 9:20 pm
Hello-
I just found your blog the other day and have appreciated your open honesty in which you write about your mom and dealing with her death. My mom was diagnosed with a glioblastoma last May and is fighting the fight. As for me, I’m scared to death thinking about life without my mom. Reading about what you are experiencing reflects SO much on what I am projecting into my future without my mom. Everything from how I would ever be able to delete her phone number to thinking of how to get through the holidays to having to deal with people that won’t know what to do or say. This sucks so much and I totally can understand where you are coming from.
November 26, 2009 at 7:18 pm
Thanks so much for your kind words. I can honestly say that I know exactly how you feel – thinking about life without your mom. I just wasn’t writing the blog at the time, and now it’s moot point.
I haven’t deleted her email or phone number, but I haven’t placed her in my speed dial on my new phone. And every holiday that passes without her, we actually survived, which I didn’t think possible at the time.
If I can be of any help, let me know. My email address is on the side bar.
Happy holidays – enjoy the time you have together.
December 2, 2009 at 12:19 pm
Have I told you already how much I love reading your blog?? You write in such a way that draws me right in and makes me want to read more! Happy thanksgiving! You have so much good going on for you, and I am happy to see you’re happily living your life!
xo
December 2, 2009 at 3:47 pm
[…] Another breed of cancer survivors […]
December 29, 2009 at 8:13 pm
[…] I am in extreme denial about all of it, just a different version of denial than is discussed in most literature, probably the kind reserved for my kind of cancer survivor. […]
February 18, 2010 at 6:38 pm
[…] try to get through them without hurting the people who care about me. It’s all part of being the other type of cancer survivor. […]
January 3, 2011 at 10:14 am
Just ran across your blog. It’s perfect. So very happy that I can go back and read through your posts. Sharing it with my sisters as well. My mom passed away 5 months ago after battling with pancreatic cancer for 18 months. Thank you. Thank you for what you have done. It’s a bit of light in a dark tunnel I have been roaming around for months.
January 7, 2011 at 12:29 pm
Hi Lisa,
I’m sorry about your mother, and happy I was somehow able to help you (and your sisters). Please let me know if there’s anything I can help you with. Sending you hugs from Hong Kong (vacation).
November 3, 2012 at 8:13 pm
I really needed to read this, thank you so much. I’ve been feeling broken lately, it is refreshing to see others have felt this pain that is so hard to understand from the outside. ❤
December 28, 2012 at 3:34 pm
Also, there are people who suffer from depression who have regular levels of serotonin
in their brain and depressed people with high levels of
serotonin. An arte extends to the left of the horn and three cirques are visible below.
You can ask about talking to a Psychologist, Counselor or Therapist if
you want to, in addition to seeing the Psychiatrist, because Psychiatrists usually specialize in just
giving you the medicine. If you find out that you are depressed, there are various
different treatments available to you which include medication, therapies, CCBT,
psychotherapy and counselling. When you eat a bowl of oatmeal for instance, you are getting tryptophan into your brain.
Whey protein is not a substitute for anti-depressants.
April 18, 2014 at 11:53 pm
Reading your posts are giving me hope and clarity. My mother age 62, just lost her battle with metastatic breast cancer that spread throughout her body including her brain. It has only been 3 days since she passed and it hurts like hell. I have 2 children I need to stay strong for, but sometimes its hard.
As per her wishes, there is no funeral, and no wake… We are going to hold a celebration of life in a few weeks but it seems so far away.
I have devoted almost all of my time not needed by my kids, taking care of my mother. For 2 years I did so much, everyday there was something she needed me for. I’m so glad I was able to do that for her.
My mom was my saviour, my whole life she never gave up on me, even when I really didn’t deserve her good heart.
I miss her like crazy…