Matthew CroakCPN-101Jason Tucker5/14/2013

A Silence I Can’t Ignore

The Mass slowly but surely manifested inside of my mother’s body. In silence it

started to spread. Even though cancer has taken many innocent lives before, my mother’s

life has been spared due in part by vigilant examination services provided by her

company and competent doctors. The medical approach to my mother’s ordeal has been

efficient and rather straightforward. Her breast cancer has been identified in its early

stages and is being dealt with swiftly. My mom is expected to make a full recovery,

physically. The purpose of my documentary is to delve deeper into the less overt

emotional aspect associated with cancer. I can assume that there have been and will be

more spats of fear, anxiety and ultimately acceptance on the part of my mother, my

family and myself. What I am interested in is the different emotional turbulences

experienced by different immediate family members. My hypothesis for this investigation

is that each family member will have different views or feelings surrounding the subject.

The variable emotional experiences will depend greatly on the specific familial

perspective and relation to my mother. Depending on how each family member is related

to my mother will determine what emotions are evoked and the pattern in which they are

experienced.

For example, my father’s familial perspective is different from my grandmother’s

because he is not of blood relation to my mom. My dad’s perspective will prove

invaluable in the documentary. My father has a unique relation to my mom: he is the only

one of my familial sources that is not of blood relation to my mom. His relationship with

my mom is one of intimacy, attraction and choice. I say choice because she was not born

into his life and neither he in hers. Rather they were born and raised separately and met in

their thirties. They were set up on a blind date by my mom’s sister and my dad’s family

friend. In the end, the chose each other as soul mates, the heart’s counterpart.

The fact that my mom, who grew up in a small town in Millis, Massachusetts, and

my dad, who was born and raised in lower class Brooklyn, New York, met each other and

fell in love is a story itself. My parents are totally different and come from very different

cultural backgrounds and environments. If they were profiles on a dating site they would

never know either one existed. That being said, despite their differences their unity has

remained strong for more than twenty years and resulted in two healthy, happy children.

Another factor in his perspective is that he was the first person my mom told when she

got the news. He was the one who experience my mom in her immediate and raw

emotional status. He was the first one to witness her initial fear and confusion. He was

the first to experience her distress firsthand. I was eager to meet with him but at the same

time I was skeptical about the answers he would give me.

My father is a storyteller. He has always wanted to write books, screenplays, a

media critic, etc. This is a very nice quality to have. He is creative, engaging. This trait is

almost admirable. My dad’s creativity is a good quality, but he does love drama.

Intensity, putting emphasis on the mundane or uninteresting. The insignificant become

pivotal. On the other hand, everything becomes fantastic. The over-embellishment can

tarnish credibility or downgrade the truth. I was not entirely sure how much of the

information would be valid. I don’t think he would lie about actual facts and medical

data, he is very meticulous in that sense. But in the areas that require his analysis or his

interpretation (which is the main purpose of my documentary), he may be lead astray by

his imagination. The creativity will color reality, but I was nervous it would deviate from

my project. My father is usually emotional when discussing troubling or tentative

matters. He has no shame in crying at the end of movies and love clichés and heroism. I

wasn’t looking for him to tell me that he would carry my mother’s emotional baggage on

his shoulders and be the hero. And when I interviewed him, surprisingly, he wasn’t

expressing or bragging about his actions with my mom. He was stoic, which is rather

atypical of my father. To me, this stoicism meant that he was serious, and the issue really

hit him. This wasn’t a sad ending to a movie, but real life situation that would affect the

entire family. I asked him when and how he found out about my mom’s diagnosis.

“I found out first when she was alone getting a mammogram at Goldman

[Sachs],” he said. “She told me about it later when she came home. She showed me her

breast and asked if it looked abnormal. I said yes.” My dad went on to say how she felt

scared. He hugged her and tried to reassure her that they should “take this step by step

before getting too emotional.” David Ropeik said in his New York Times article “Cancer

on the Brain,” that the “excessive fear of this dreaded disease that sometimes does more

harm than good, what some have called ‘cancer phobia.’” When he provided me with this

answer, my dad’s voice did not break, it did not crack. He sat there, ready for the next

questions. So I asked him more intense question to get the ball rolling.

‘Were you scared?’ I asked. He said yes. He was nervous, but confident it would

be resolved. I realized that my questions were too basic, just asking about facts and his

feelings toward the illness. I could have assumed he was scared, I was getting what I was

really after. So I asked him a deeper, more personal question, not about his view of the

illness, but about his view of mom. When I asked him ‘what was the first image he saw

when he pictured mom sick?’ he broke his reserve ever so slightly. “I saw your mother

with no right breast. I didn’t view her as sickly, but it was a strange feeling of

abnormality.” After he told me this, again, I asked what emotions were evoked when he

got the news. He was slowly lowering his walls.

            “I kept asking God, why Lynda? Why does she have to be sick? She is a great

person who cares so much for everyone else. I kept thinking she doesn’t deserve this.”

My dad went on to say how he felt powerless, like he could not help her. I sat there and

let him unload the burden. All of the thoughts that he had been unable to express until

someone actually asked and probed a bit. He was not quite ready to let express himself,

but after a while, he found it hard to hold back. I asked him if his attraction to my mom

had changed at all, imagining her with one breast.

“The one thing I notice is the lack of sexual drive, which I do feel a bit guilty

about. I think that she feels this way too. We just don’t feel like having sex.” Luigi Grassi

and Michelle Riba say in chapter four of their book Clinical Psycho-Oncology, that “the

experience of a life-threatening disease like cancer is accompanied by deleterious and

often permanent repercussions on sexuality.” I asked him about acceptance. How long

did it take? What lead him to accept it? I told him it was when I first saw mom with a

short haircut with some highlighted spikes. I had never seen my mom with short hair. It

was weird, but it was what I needed to see in order to realize that this was real. I assumed

he would say the same thing, but his account was different than mine.

“It was when I saw the MRI results. The images were graphic and vivid-almost

scary to look at.” He described to me the blood vessels “feeding” the two tumors. “I

couldn’t help but feel they were growing as we were standing there.” I asked him about

my mom and her hair loss. “It didn’t shake me. I knew it would happen so it wasn’t such

a shock. I even shaved it for her, to let her know that I was okay with it.” I personally

wasn’t there to see the shaving, but my dad mentioned that it was at first awkward. Silent

for the most part, with a few interjections from my mom talking about day to day things

like work, the kids, church, things to try and establish a sense of normalcy. But things

were not normal. Despite the early awkwardness, it was the humor that would lighten the

mood.

“I kid her that I have more hair than she does,” he said. For the record, my dad is

bald. “She kids she will get firmer breasts the second time around and that I [My dad]

have always wanted ‘ski slopes.’” I laughed with my dad for a little while when he said

this because my dad claims that “ski slopes” (the breast type he think Jennifer Anniston

has) are better than bigger breasts. He and I have quarreled over this in the past, so the

fact that he mentioned it now was somewhat comforting, as if we could still have silly

discussions despite my mother’s situation. He said that my mom tries to make fun of

herself but that it is a defense mechanism. Humor has been used before to sort of soften

the blow that cancer throws. This is evident in the documentary A Light That Shines,

presented by The Documentary Network, where the focus person of the film Jill

Cromley. Jill makes a joke that she organized her marriage on her husband’s birthday so

he wouldn’t forget. This little bit of humor will not heal the wounds that her cancer has

left, but it can create a sense of normalcy and a short moment of happiness. Still being

able to laugh, even in this context, has helped my dad remain positive. I asked him about

how he treated my mom, if he was able to comfort her without pitying her.

“I thought of spring,” he said, “a time of revival. So I wanted to get her flowers.

But I always get her flowers, and I don’t want her to feel pitied.” He told me of a more

unique way to give my mother flowers, without the idea of pity or sadness. “Your mother

loves planting, so I went to the hardware store and bought your mom new gloves and

planting tools.” He went on to say that now they can both look forward to planting

together.

At the closing of the interview, I asked him how his view of my mom’s illness has

changed throughout the experience. “Both doctors believe they will cure mom,” he said

proudly. “So that has given both of us much more confidence that we can beat this thing,

albeit, a bit less for you mom.” He told me that she still worries about the reoccurrence

because some of her friends/fellow patients have had reoccurrences. She is no stranger to

cancer, her best friend’s sister has had breast cancer return. She also knows a few co-

workers who have had family members with the disease. But probably the most prevalent

reminder is her mother, Eleanor Anderson.

My grandma is a very compassionate person. From when I was young she

emanated kindness, generosity, and a deep appreciation for her family. Her calls are a

commonality in my household, but unfortunately are not always answered. Listening to

her kind voicemails made you feel somewhat remorseful that you were not there to pick

up the phone. She is religious, but does not believe in forcing religion unto her less-than-

dedicated grandchildren. Instead, she reminds us that no matter what, God is a guide, a

hope, and she has passed down to me the belief that everything happens for a reason and

that things will work out in the end. She is and always has been a positive person. Her

positivity, I felt, would be important in analyzing her perspective as my mother’s mom,

or “mum,” as she says.

I interviewed my grandmother through email, as she lives in Boynton Beach,

Florida. When I contacted my Gram Jam to ask her about how she felt about mom, I

remembered times before when I talked to her on the phone and through email and how

the subject of my mom’s cancer came up regularly. She would ask how my mom was

doing, how she was feeling. I could only imagine how she felt, knowing that her eldest

daughter had to receive chemotherapy over 1,200 miles away.

“She told me in person in your living room,” she said, “when I came up to

Brooklyn for Christmas.” This came as a surprise to me, as I thought my mother would

have told her mom right after she found out, rather than wait to do it in person. I

understand the value of personal interaction, but I figured my mom would want to tell my

Gram Jam when she found out. I asked her what my mom’s body language resembled

when they spoke.

“From what I remember it was like just having a conversation with each other,”

she said. She added that my mom did not display much anxiety or any abnormal emotions

at all. Jan Hoffman said in her New York Times article “When Thumbs Up is no

Comfort,” said that “optimism reassures anxious relatives, the public and doctors,

regardless of whether it accurately reflects the patient’s emotional state.” This could

explain why my mother seemed stoic when she was talking to my grandmother, when in

reality she was scared, as was evident when she told my dad. Maybe she was able to

better conceal her anxiety in front of her mother because she already expressed her

concerns to my dad.

I asked her some more general questions about how she felt, but I didn’t feel like I

was getting anywhere in terms of depth. I wanted my grandma to really delve deep,

almost rant. This was hard for me considering my grandma is generally tame and calm, I

wasn’t sure if I really wanted to push my kind Gram Jam to a more heated or even

stressful expression of feelings. But I felt that it was necessary for my project to prod a

little more. Instead of asking her to simply tell me her first thoughts, I wanted to infuse a

bit of judgment into the question. Rather than say what were your first thoughts? I posed

my question more directly by saying was your first response empty? I could tell this

question struck a cord, because her response was not a few sentences as the others had

been, but a lengthy, passionate paragraph. She expressed her feelings of confusion, much

like my father had.

“Why does she have to go through another illness?” she wrote. She told me that

my mom has been going through illness since she was twelve, starting with appendicitis.

Over the years, my mom would have her gallbladder removed, debilitating allergies that

sometimes kept her out of class, thyroid surgery, foot surgery, to name a few. I also

noticed my usually calm and quaint Gram Jam began using much more exclamation

points and capital letters in her response. “She always had her mammograms!  Took care

of herself!  WHY?  WHY?  I am having trouble thinking was my response empty!” On

her own accord, she went even further in her response. She went on to talk about how my

mother tried to spare her [my grandma] the stress of having her sit there with my mom

and wait anxiously at her chemo appointments.

“This is how considerate she is!!! Having your child ill is terrible feeling on a

mother.  We [parents] are supposed to have these as we age, not watch our children

become so ill.” My grandmother’s shock was evident in her email. She mentioned that no

one on her side or on her late husband’s side had breast cancer before my mom. This

statement came as a shock to me, since my mom never told me about her family history

with cancer. I knew her dad had brain cancer, and my grandma has a variant of leukemia

but is for the most part healthy. But for my mom to be the first of her lineage to have

breast cancer, this surprised me. In addition to this surprising answer, her answer to my

question of acceptance was also came as a surprise.

“I accepted it pretty much right away,” she said. My mom went to chemo the next

day with my grandma. Gram Jam told me that she hadn’t cried until she went with my

mom to shop for wigs. “It is very difficult for me to cry,” she said, “but shopping for the

wigs, this did make it real and tears came.” She said that the hairdresser was able to

console her. She went on to tell me how she found solace in her friend Andy and her

sister Anne. But the other person she confided in, my Auntie Brenda, would be a

perspective that I was anxious to investigate.

My Auntie Brenda is probably the only person in my family that could make me

laugh to the point of urination, where she has in the past. She is an avid cook, and

sometimes I question whether my own mother loves my sister and I as much as my aunt

does. She found out that my mom was awaiting biopsy results a week before the final

diagnosis was revealed. My mom was going on a business trip to Puerto Rico and

decided to stop in West Palm to see her family. Auntie Brenda said they were waiting for

the doctor to call with the results with my Grandma.

“I was so nervous,” she said. “We did not want to let Gram know what was going

on at that time.” The call never came and the feeling was bittersweet. This way, they did

not have to tell Gram Jam about the suspicion, but at the same time they were anxious to

get the results. When it came time for my mom to leave, my aunt had trouble saying

goodbye. “That Sunday night, I had a terrible feeling that she thought the results would

be bad.” My mom called her back when she returned to New York after her trip to Puerto

Rico to tell her the news.

“I think she could feel my heartbreak through the phone,” she said, “and I could

feel hers. Both of us cried a bit and also both tried to be positive and upbeat.” Despite the

attempt at positivity and her acceptance of the situation, it would seem my aunt would not

be able to come to grips with my mom’s cancer right away. Her initial response was not

fear, or anger towards God or anyone else, but the feeling was one of sadness. “I cried for

about a month every time I thought of her. I actually could think of nothing else but

Lynda. I could not concentrate. I could not get through church with out sobbing.” It was

clear that my aunt was struck by my mom’s diagnosis. And why shouldn’t she be. This

was her older sister, someone she looked up to, followed as a child and sought advice

from when they grew older. At one point, my uncle tried to snap her out of her hysteria.

“I screamed at him,” she said, “and actually said to him ‘I don't know if you

understand how much I love her.’ At that point he understood and I began to force myself

into positive thoughts.” My aunt kept reminding me about how much she loved my mom

and how important my mom was to her. When I asked her what she planned to do to help

or how she would try to improve the situation, she told me about fundraising. “I am

raising money for a walk through trading my cheesecakes for donations. It is a small

thing I can do to help support the cause for women who may not have adequate health

insurance.”

In A Light That Shines, Cromley undergoes a photo shoot in Paris with famed

photographer Sue Bryce. This photo shoot was meant not to directly raise money for

breast cancer research, but to start a beauty campaign in which it inspires women and

other cancer patients to find the beauty beyond their cancer. This is kind of like what my

aunt is doing by donating her cheesecakes. This cheesecake campaign is spreading cheer

to inspire awareness and eventually raise money for research. Despite the sensitive

subject, my mom’s younger sister reassured me that her view of my mom had not

changed. “I have the same love, admiration and respect for your Mom as pre cancer,” she

said. My aunt’s point of view has proven vital not just as an emotional source, but also as

a source of aid and awareness. A sister’s perspective can sometimes be the closest and

most intimate one to analyze. That is why my next interview subject is my sister,

Mallory.

Mallory is sixteen years old, three years younger than I am. She is a junior in high

school and a straight A student. She has always been exemplary in school, but I wanted to

know more about her emotion stance on the issue regarding my mom. She is very mature

for her age, so I knew I could ask her the personal questions without fear of soiling her

innocence. My sister and I have talked about my mom’s cancer causally before, as

brothers and sisters do most topics. Despite our idle chit-chat, I never really knew how

she felt about it. I knew she thought it was strange and she was affected by it, as I was,

but I wanted to know her deeper feelings.

“Mom sat me down one evening on her bed,” she said, “just the two of us, to tell

me that she had found a lump in one of her breasts.” My mom told Mallory that it could

be benign. So the initial shock was not too severe for my sister. “About a week later she

sat me down on the same bed, during the daytime, but this time we were accompanied by

Dad and you (Matthew).” I remember the day my mom told us, Mallory was there, and

Dad. The dogs were wrestling at the foot of the bed, oblivious to the news that would

change our lives. Mallory said that since she knew of the concern a week before, when

our mom told us she had cancer, Mallory was not too overwhelmed. “I was sad but

nowhere near hysterical.” My sister is a strong-minded person. She is a member of the

honor society, she is an actress, dancer, singer, confidant, partner in crime. Her

confidence in my mom did not surprise me. I asked her if she ever cried over the news.

“Of course I cried,” she said, “but I felt confident that she would get better.” She

went on to tell me that when she thought of cancer, she saw sickly people, dying in

hospital beds. “But with mom, I didn’t.” Mallory expressed concern about how our

mother would look after losing her hair and eyebrows, because she was so involved with

every step of the treatment. This constant involvement is the real factor that separates my

sister and I, as I have been away at school during most of the ordeal. But it was this

involvement that would ease the suffering behind the ordeal. “I was comfortable with

each new appearance she took on. It wasn’t even that weird for me the first time I saw her

bald.” I asked her about whom she told about our mom’s cancer. She said she told her

best friend, Bruni, who had had family members with cancer. Since some of those

relatives had died, Mallory was worried that Bruni would jump to a negative conclusion.

But ironically, Bruni was accepting and initially calm. It was her other, less intimate

friends that would be harder to tell the news to.

“I only told other friends that I had to (ones that were coming over to the house),”

she said. “But it’s awkward because they immediately feel super bad.” This pity from

friends made my sister defensive of our mom, she would hastily say that it wasn’t that

serious, that she would be ok. I never thought of this scenario: our mother’s cancer

making my sister defensive of her. It was not really a protective instinct that I assumed

was present, but one of defense. It wasn’t to shield our mother from external forces of

involvement, but to defend her against judgment and pity. In Katherine Schneider’s book

Counseling About Cancer, in chapter 10, she talks about the many emotions (some

conflicting) that are experienced by clients. “Clients may exhibit a range of emotional

reactions,” is says on the first page of chapter 10. It goes on to list the types of emotions,

such as anger, fear of disfigurement and disability, and anxiety, among others. One of

which that I think pertains to Mallory’s case is guilt and shame. “People typically have

little or no control over an adverse event; however, they may feel as though they could or

should have done something different to try and change the outcome.” This type of guilt

is commonly present with people who have a family history of cancer, but I wanted to try

and apply it to this situation. Mallory is by no means at fault with my mother’s cancer

and does seem too anxious about it at all. However, maybe she feels she is obligated to

help my mother by defending her. Maybe if she protects our mother’s image, by

reassuring her friends that our mom will be ok, she can in some way alter the outcome or

help the healing process. She said she did not experience pity from the family members,

as they were feeling what she was, but maybe the she was in fact getting pity from her

friends. This pity may have triggered the defense. Sympathy is appreciated, whereas pity

can be taken, in the words of Mallory, as “awkward.”

In closing, I asked my sister how she views disease. I asked her how this situation

has changed her perception about cancer and what she plans to do about her health in the

future. “I realize now that all cancer is not the same,” she said. “Every case is different. It

depends on the type, stage, person, etc. I will not fear cancer now. I will make smart

health decisions and get regular screenings so that, if I do get it, I will be ready to ‘bend it

over.’” Her last comment warmed me, as it is what I usually say to mom. I tell her to

“bend it over,” which is crude, but that’s my humor. By using this, Mallory has shown

me that she thinks it’s ok to laugh too, just like my dad and I. I know it’s crude, and can

be offensive, but to know that it has resonated with my family in a positive way makes

me feel better about the situation as a whole.

My sister, reluctantly, said that this situation was a good thing for the family. Up

until the diagnosis, things in the house were miserable. “I was constantly busy and

stressed and Mom and Dad fought constantly. You were gone and the house felt empty,

like the absence of one person made all the difference.” It seemed that after the diagnosis,

the family grew closer, putting aside their petty problems and making room for not just

my mom but for each other. “It was like the stupid things we once fought about

constantly were made trivial and insignificant because there was something so much

more important for us to care about.” As my research has progressed and I am finding out

more and more about how my family feels about this situation, I am feeling a bit

uncomfortable because the closer I get to finishing these perspective, the closer I will be

to facing my own emotions and deep seeded feelings about my mom’s cancer. A task I

have been avoiding since my mother told me about her diagnosis. But before I address

my feelings, there is one more perspective that is pivotal to the investigation.

My mother, Lynda, is a kind, tolerant, hardworking woman who sometimes does

not know when enough is enough. Whether she is discussing politics with my dad,

schoolwork with my sister, or adjusting my class schedule for next semester, my mom

can be one of the most stubborn people I know. A trait that I have grown to loathe as well

as admire. She loves to talk. I think she has more friends than anyone else her age, simply

because she can talk to anyone about anything. Whether we’re on line at the supermarket,

or on the phone with tech support, her polite and social nature has branched out into a

great oak of a social life. She is a strong woman, powering through a stressful work

schedule. She is on the board for Lutheran Medical center, an active member of our

church and community, and now a cancer survivor. I admire my mother and envy her

ability to remain steadfast even in the harshest conditions. When I first thought of this

topic to investigate, she was the first interview subject I thought of.

“I had no history of breast cancer in my family or other risk factors,” she said. “At

age 40 I started having annual mammography screening in addition to annual breast exam

included as part of annual exam by gynecologist.”  Prior to November 2012, every

mammogram for past 13 years came back with no findings. Her annual screenings were

never a concern to me. I never thought about them, I hadn’t even known until recently

that she was having them annually. She never talked to me about them until the

diagnosis. “This time I received a call informing me that the results indicated an

“asymmetrical density” that suggested further testing was necessary.” While this was not

good news, my mom said she was not overly concerned as she knew there can be many

lumps in the breasts. These benign lumps, such as fibroids and cysts that have to

evaluated but are not necessarily cancerous. So, for further investigation, she had to see a

doctor. The doctor did another mammography, as well as a sonogram. When these tests

found irregularities, the doctor then did a few needle biopsies. After taking four or five

biopsies out of her right breast, he took one out of her lymph node under her armpit. The

results would come back seven to ten days later, but my mother didn’t need to wait that

long.

“When I came out of Dr. Kolb’ s office I knew it was cancer and I was very

shaken by it because it happened so fast and unexpectedly.” This surprised me, as my

mom usually has a positive outlook on life and tries not to expect the worst. “It was after

work and about 8 pm and I was definitely in pain from the multiple biopsies he took. I

called Dad and was actually shaking on the phone and told him about what just

happened.” My dad told her to just come home and talk about it, which they did. She

wouldn’t know one hundred percent if she had cancer until the results came in, but still,

she was scared. It wasn’t until a week later that she found out the results.

At 6:00 pm, that next Monday, my mom got a call saying “the biopsy showed

significant disease in the breast and the lymph nodes.” My mom said she wasn’t

surprised. With the help of her best friend, whose sister also has had breast cancer, she

had already researched which surgeons were the best. “At that point, Matthew, it was no

longer emotional but rather like a job to get an appointment immediately!  Once I knew I

had cancer, all I wanted to do was get treatment ASAP.  I can’t tell you the urgency I

felt!” This was the side of my mom that I knew well. She got the news and was ready to

attack it head on. For her to want to get chemo as quickly as possible is a courage that I

have not yet experienced myself in my life. In Schneider’s book, Counseling About

Cancer, Schneider mentions on page 361 that one of the emotional reactions to adverse

scenarios is resiliency and even pleasant emotions. “Clients may feel that they have inner

strength and fortitude to face their risks of cancer because they have survived previous

adverse events.” This could be true, considering my mom has had many surgeries and

illnesses and has conquered them all. But my mom’s bravery would soon be challenged

by another obstacle.

“The problem was it was now December 12,” she said, “and both doctors’ offices

said they could not see me until after January. That is when I flipped!  I locked myself in

an office at work and spent the whole day calling, begging, pleading, faxing my biopsy

results to show the sense of urgency until finally the doctor said he would see me in the

hospital that Friday.” My mom’s stubborn nature would prove once again, to be a force

unmatched. Rather than accept the unfortunate circumstance, she pushed and pushed until

she reached a desirable result. But she did not credit her determination solely to her. “I

was so determined but I also believe I had the man up above working with me! He really

always has his hand in our lives.”

She went on to tell me that she got breast cancer in an early stage, one that is most

treatable and has the highest survival rate. She reminded me that she would try to eat

healthier, a task that would not cure her disease but just provide a better quality of life as

well as a better foundation for treatment. I saw an inspiration in my mom that was

remarkable. To be diagnosed with the Big C is not usually a cause for inspiration, but one

of defeat. She said that eating right and exercising would help keep the cancer in

remission, but I saw my mother doing this for other reasons. She has wanted to be

healthier and more active for as long as I have known her. Maybe it was this rapture that

finally gave her the push to achieve her goals. Which is ironic, because she is usually the

one doing the pushing. This was the deepest I had ever talked to my mom about her

cancer. To close, she told me the most important thing she would get out of this situation.

“The most important thing to come from this for me has been to really put to

practice my faith.  I do believe I need to give up control and really trust in God. That

doesn’t mean that I don’t do my part and work with the best doctors, but I have to take it

a day at a time.” She finished our discussion with a quote from my family friend’s late

husband, who recently died of lung cancer. “As our dear friend Georgie always said, ‘let

God do what He does best’ and that is take care of us.” Jeffrey Kluger said, in his Times

article “The Biology of Belief,” that it is normal to pray for our health and rly on

religious faith for healing. “Health, by definition, is the sine qua non of everything else. If

you're dead, serenity is academic. So we convince ourselves that while our medicine is

strong and our doctors are wise, our prayers may heal us too.” It seems that my mother

has a tight grip on her cancer and is not letting go anytime soon. If I had trouble facing

my emotions before, I feel my mother’s testimony has inspired me enough to do so. The

time has come for me to address my feelings on the matter.

As I face this issue, I realize that I really don’t know how to feel. I’ve been

running from my feelings about this for such a long time because I’m scared of what I’m

going to find. My reservations aside, and for the integrity of my documentary, I will

proceed with my perspective.

When my mom told me she had breast cancer, I did not move. Not out of shock,

or sadness, or fear, but because I did not know what to do. What to think. I felt as though

I had heard something profound but it did not move me. I was freaked out, sure, but I was

not afraid. I was not sad. I never looked at my mom differently and I couldn’t accept it

until after I saw my mom with her spikey haircut. It was weird, and I didn’t really like

how it looked on her. But still, I was not shaken. It was as if nothing had happened. Aside

from the unusual sight of my mom without hair, or with a wig that resembled an orthodox

Jewish woman, I didn’t see my mom as having cancer. I didn’t see the cancer. It wasn’t

there. It didn’t phase me. It was not the predominant thing on my mind. I didn’t even

think to tell my friends. My mom told them herself when they came over one day to hang

out. How could I feel this empty about it? She’s my mom. My mom. She gave birth to

me, nurtured me, she made me who I am. How can I not be sad for her? I know if she

were here, she would tell me not to be sad for her, but how can I not be? This is what I

was afraid to address.

I was not angry when I found out. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t question it. I certainly

didn’t accept it. I didn’t cry for days because of it. in fact, the first time I actually cried

about it was while doing this project. I never once before this shed a tear. What kind of

son am I if I cannot shed a tear for my mother who has shed so many for me. When I was

born. When I had appendicitis. When I left for college. When I was afraid. When I was

happy. How could I not have the decency to cry for her? In all of my sources, I cannot

find anything about a lack of emotions. None of the academic sources I have, that are

written by experts in the field of cancer, the psychology of cancer and counseling, have

shown me any cases where this is so. I know my mother will be ok. For that, I am happy.

I love my mom, my family. My mother and my family are the most important things in

my life.

Then how can I not cry for her? It hurts to face this, but I simply cannot answer

why. This question will probably never be solved and follow me for the rest of my life.

However, I can find solace in the fact that I have addressed it. I can accept it, and still

know that I love my mother, my family, and myself. I can say that I am not saddened or

hurt by my mother’s cancer, but I can also say for sure that it has changed me. It has

become one of the most cardinal chapters in my life.

This project has proven to be the hardest and most meaningful projects I have

undertaken. As I was pursuing this documentary, the song How’s It Going to Be, by Third

Eye Blind, was playing in the back of my mind. The gentle electric guitar riff gliding

along the melody as the lyrics fall in line. “I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore.

Before you take a swing, I wonder, what are we fighting for? When I say out loud I want

to get out of this, I wonder, is there anything I'm going to miss?” This project has given

me a conduit to speak openly about this issue with my family members. I feel as though I

can truly be myself with my family and address issues that we may try to hide from or

bury in the back yard. “The hammocks by the doorway we spent time in swing empty.

Don't see lightning like last fall when it was always about to hit me. I wonder how's it

going to be, when it goes down? How’s it going to be, when your not around? How’s it

going to be?” (How’s It Going to Be)

This documentary has brought my family closer. My family members have

expressed their pride in me as they have read my work and questions. As my father and I

have been at odds for as long as I can remember, this has brought us closer. As a family, I

feel we can appreciate each other more. It has shown me the true strength my mother

possesses. The light in her that burns through me, my sister, my father, her mother, her

sister, and many others. This project has forced me to confront my feelings and myself. I

have often questioned who I am and what I am meant to do. Even if this is my greatest

achievement, it has been worth it. I am thankful for this experience, and I am grateful for

my family. It has renewed my faith in God as well as in my family as a unit and as a

home.

Works Cited

Ropeik, David. “Cancer on the Brain.” New York Times 12 June 2012

The Documentary Network. The Light That Shines. The Documentary Network.

Web. Jan. 29, 2013. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIA0_U_eA4M

Parker-Pope, Tara. “Cancer Emotions: Upbeat, Stoic or Just Scared?” New York

Times 2 June 2008

Jan Hoffman. “When Thumbs Up is no Comfort.” New York Times 1 June 2008

Grassi, Luigi, and Michelle Riba. Clinical Pyscho-Oncology. West Sussex, UK:

John Wiley and Sons, Ltd, 2012. Print.

Schneider, Katherine. Counseling about Cancer. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley and

Sons, Inc., 2012. Print.

Third Eye Blind. “How’s It Going to Be.” Third Eye Blind. Elektra Entertainment.

18 November 1997.