The thing that scared me most when I first learned I had cancer had nothing to do with the medical ordeal that loomed ahead. I knew I could handle surgery, chemo, radiation, whatever. I just couldn't fathom how I could do it all while being the mom I wanted to be to my two little kids. Crying those first waves of tears, I couldn't imagine how I'd ever muster the strength to battle breast cancer, continue to work, plan play dates and birthday parties, cook and clean and read bedtime stories and do all the things that moms do, day in, day out. My worries faded a little when my aching heart and mind raced back to my mom's battle with cancer. If she ever felt the least bit scared, never showed it. She approached each stage of her treatment as one more step toward getting better. Simple as that. She never whined about what a pain in the ass it was to have to fight off a disease she didn't deserve. She just lived her life, grateful for the top-notch medical care she was getting from her docs at Dartmouth-Hitchcock and for many people in her life who stepped up to help however they could. When it came time to call Mom and share my shitty news, she cried just like I did when she was the one calling me to share her shitty cancer news. "Oh, Lizzie," she wept. "You're too young to have to go through this. Your kids ... Oh, Lizzie." The shock of it all had worn off on me by that point, so I said something like, "I know, Mom. I know. It's not fair. It's going to suck, and there will be awful days. But somehow, I'll get through it. Just like you did." On Mother's Day 2015, I had no idea what a grueling ordeal I'd have to face over the next year. Today, I look back on it and feel more grateful than ever for my health, every hair on my head and all the love that so many people in my life have showed me over the last 11 months – including so many moms who inspire me in so many ways. Anytime I thought I was in over my head, someone always swooped in to remind me that I wasn't alone, that I could make it to the next day. And then the next. And then the next. Some days, my kids weathered the ups and downs with wisdom beyond their years. Some days, they fought with me and each other and made huge fusses over such little things that I barked with brutal honesty, "You know, everyone else in my life – I mean, everyone – is bending over backward to make things easier on me. You're the only ones who are making things harder. So cut it out." Sometimes the truth hurts. But ultimately, it's truth that leads to healing and growth and understanding. Last night, after one of Tyler's fits of fussiness (that's mommy code for "being an insufferable a-hole"), I said, "Tyler, I get that it's hard to be a kid sometimes. But you know what, it's super hard to be a mom, too." He reached out his arms to give me a hug and said, "It's even harder to be a mom with cancer. ... I love you, Mommy." And just like that, a half hour's worth of "OMG, if this kid does one more thing to piss me off I'm gonna blow my stack" angst melted away. "Wow, Tyler, what a wonderful thing to say to me." Of course there were ulterior motives. He wanted to watch one more episode of Mighty Med. Whatever. It was still a sweet thing to say. This morning, Tyler presented me an egg-crate Mother's Day rose he made for me. "I painted it orange, because it's your favorite color." Sylvia held my hand as we walked to our favorite neighborhood coffee shop for Mother's Day waffles. Sean gave me a hug, thanked me for being his best friend, then treated me to a luxurious day to myself while he schlepped the kids to their soccer games – freeing me up to enjoy a dee-LISH-ous strawberry mimosa with a fellow soccer mama friend (nyom nyom nyom). I'm blessed. Truly blessed. UPDATE: To top off the best Mother's Day ever, we enjoyed dinner out at a fantastic restaurant (Tallulah's), where we had SUCH yummy food, they treated all the moms to flowers and a card, and Sylvia wrote this on the back. "Dear Mother, You are the bravest person in my life." Wow.

#CaringBridge #cancer #motherhood #mom #MothersDay