A Long December

I went to my Mom's first cancer appointment yesterday. My father cannot go into hospitals or sick places anymore due to the fragility of his lungs so she would've gone alone. She didn't want me to go because she said, "you don't don't do well we these sorts of things, honey." This might've been true a year ago, but lately I've been changing.

I was a few minutes late to the Cancer Center and the ride up the elevator to the second floor seemed like an eternity. As I shuffled my feet down the hall to the front desk, my life's troubles seemed extremely small. All my worries, my frustrations, my pain - it seemed so insignificant. I found myself standing at the edge of the waiting room and saw so many people fighting for their lives, still hanging on, still believing. All that courage. Some of them smiling, laughing. It was suffocating yet redemptive.

I looked around and didn't see my mom in the waiting area so I knew she must already be in the room. I arrived at the front desk, greeted by a chubby black lady smiling through big gapped teeth. "Who are you here for?" she said. In that moment, I could not even bring myself to say my mother's name. So I just stood there staring at her. She asked again. And again. I felt like I could not speak. Finally, I muttered, "Crystal. She's my mom."

Another lady came up to lead me back to the patient room. I opened to the door to find my mom...putting lipstick on. My mother is like that - unpredictable, strong, funny, selfless. She is the most giving person I have ever met in my life. She quietly put her lipstick away and whispered, "my heart feels like it's beating out of my chest." I said, "Mom, I'm here with you. Let's see what they have to say." I suddenly realized that I always depend on her, yet now, she is depending on me. It's like we've reversed roles. I am the parent, she is the child. I cannot explain what this does to your soul, but it changes you.

We waited for what seemed like hours, my mind in two places. I have this uncanny knack for being in several places at once in both mind and spirit. I suppose it's a gift. I sat there trying to make her laugh because that's what I do. But while one part of me was creating laughter, the other part of my soul was far away trying to make sense of it all.

My Mother inspired me yesterday. She inspired me by watching her sit in a room, unsure, scared of the unknown - yet she sat there putting lipstick on - finding the strength of God and relying on something so much greater than herself. I sat there in awe of her quiet strength, how she refuses to fold. I was reminded that it's all the little things that matter because it's the little things that you'll always take away.

As we were leaving, she leaned over and said, "You know I can be healed, don't you?" I stepped into the elevator and quietly thought to myself, "Yes Mom, and if God doesn't do it... l will."