Image Credit: Caroline Flynn
“I don’t want to be pitied” she said, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. A few short months ago her hair was the shoulder-length layered and highlighted style that many of the Mom’s around town sported as they rushed to and from soccer practices, grocery stores, and jobs. Now there was nothing there but a feathery fuzz like the down of a baby bird gently hugging her bare scalp. She would say that she looked in the mirror and saw a cancer patient. But I could only see someone with a determination to look like anything but, and who was succeeding.
Decisively, she put the wig she was holding in one hand firmly onto her head and grabbed her car keys. “I don’t want to be pitied” she reaffirmed, mostly talking to my Dad who had reminded her that she was beautiful bald. “I think the wig looks good” I reassured her as I watched her march out the door to conquer her fear of being in public.
Image Credit: Caroline Flynn
My Mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer over a year ago in May, and even as I write this truth, it still feels like the words are void of meaning. For those of you who don’t know me, this story has a happy ending full of life lessons and strengthened bonds. But the beginning will always be hard. At first I didn’t know how to process the realization that something this drastic was out of my hands. Usually, when little crises affect my life I’m strong willed and quick witted, and the problem is gone almost as quickly as it began. I had no precedent for how to act as you watch your Mom get sick. And if I could go back to last summer, there are a million little things I would do differently.
Image Credit: Caroline Flynn
My Mom on the other hand, figured it out pretty early on. And though chemo had its days and took its toll, the second she felt better she jumped at the chance to live as normal a life as possible. When you ask her how she did it, she always breaks into a grin and begins to tell story after story of how supportive all the people in her life have been. Her friends from all parts of her life came together to bring her post-chemo gifts every week. I did the grocery shopping and helped out with her business. My dad went to every doctor’s appointment he could and my sister accompanied her to chemo. My grandmother called her everyday and would drive her to treatments, her sisters checked in often. Even friends across the country managed to find ways to bring a smile to her face, sending random supportive texts or even fruit baskets from Colorado! And from this cocoon of support, as treatments piled up and her body began to fight back against her good spirits, she never gave up hope.
Image Credit: Caroline Flynn
Then it was September and school started again. My life in New York did not reflect what I felt like the life of a daughter supporting her sick mom should look like. Over the summer we had learned as a family that our relationships were what supported us even more than we could have ever imagined. And suddenly, I could no longer be there every day to talk with my Mom and help around the house. I felt guilty that all those people who couldn’t love my Mom nearly as much as I did were going to be closer to her physically and emotionally as she continued her battle. And while she was spending most of her days getting poison pumped through her veins, I was in New York City, happy, healthy, and far from home. So I looked for little ways to support her.
Image Credit: Caroline Flynn
Freshman year, all my Mom had ever wanted was to know everything about my life every second of every day. Obviously this request to me seemed completely unreasonable and even when she tried to bargain it down to most things about my life most seconds of most days, I would claim my independence and retort that I’d talk to her when I had time. But now, with her sick at home, I realized that if that’s what she wanted – a little piece of me everyday – I would happily manage.
Image Credit: Caroline Flynn
My family wore these Hope rings everyday to remind us all that things were going to turn out okay, and it seemed like the perfect way to stay connected and supportive of my Mom. Though to the naked eye these pictures may look like nothing more than a diary of what I had for dinner and who I might have seen that day, to my Mom these pictures were a window into my world. Since her treatment ended in February, my Mom and I are closer than ever. To me this means that we fight just enough for it to feel like a mother-daughter relationship, and the rest of the time we’re friends. As adult life becomes an increasing part of my reality, her guidance and support is something I am thankful for everyday. And though her hair is getting longer and the clutter of breast-cancer-pink is slowly disappearing from the house, I can still look at her and remember how she looked with cancer: strong and always moving forward.
By Caroline Flynn
Caroline Flynn is a Sales and Publishing Intern at the Campus Clipper studying Theatre at NYU Tisch. Caroline is passionate about the arts and dedicated to using her voice to make other people smile. As she heads into her Junior year, she is excited to be writing about how relationships have shaped her life while she takes on summer in the city for the first time. Check out her Instagram for more witty and heartfelt content on her life.
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go the extra mile.) I decided I’d get a manicure before my appointment, so I picked out a pale pink Essie color and took a seat at table right away. The woman who did my nails was extremely thorough when she was prepping them, and very neat with the polish itself. I learned that all of Vada Spa’s employees all had at least five years of experience before coming there, and anyone who’s ever gotten a messy manicure knows that this really makes a huge difference.
