This Sunday, September 28, marks fifteen years since my mom passed away after her fight with ovarian cancer. Fifteen years. On some days, it feels like a lifetime; on others, the memories of her are so vivid it feels like yesterday. My sisters and I miss her terribly, and that longing for just one more day with her never really goes away. One more conversation. One more hug. One more chance to hear her laugh.
When I got the call that she was at the end of life, it came much sooner than I expected. I scrambled to get a flight, desperate to reach her in time. But while I was in the air, she slipped away. I remember staring out the window as the plane crossed over the Grand Canyon, a place she always wanted to take us kids. Something inside me shifted in that moment, and I knew. I can’t explain it, but I felt her passing. I wrote down the time on the flight, almost instinctively. When I landed, my sisters confirmed it. That experience stays with me as one of those mysteries of love and connection we can’t put into words.
Now, as I face my own fight with cancer, I think about her journey often. There’s both comfort and sorrow in the comparison. Comfort, because I know I’m in a better place than where she was at this stage. The treatments, the medical advances, and the incredible team around me give me a fighting chance she didn’t fully have. But there’s sorrow, too, because I can’t help but wonder what it would mean to have her here with me.
The truth is, I’m not afraid of falling behind in this fight. What weighs on me more is the uncertainty. The waiting. The long stretches of “what if” mixed with the hope of “when this is finally over.” I try to hold onto the anticipated joy of reaching the other side of this journey, but some days are harder than others. This week especially, my emotions have been scattered in every direction, grief, gratitude, frustration, hope. It’s a messy, human mix.
Despite all that, one thing is clear: my family and I are winning. We are walking this road together, even when it feels exhausting. Every good lab result, every laugh, every message from someone cheering me on, all of it reminds me that this is not just my fight, it’s ours.
To those who have stuck with me, through your kind words, affirmations, prayers, and quiet acts of encouragement, thank you. You do more for me than you probably realize. Your support doesn’t just comfort me; it strengthens me.
Fifteen years without Mom feels like forever. But in her memory, and with the love of those around me, I keep pressing forward.