Today I came across this beautifully written, very touching, but also most encouraging blog post, written by a young woman who was almost 14 years old when her Mum was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. Her Mum subsequently died 12 years later, after many surgeries and hospitalisations.
There are trials. And then there are the trials that change your fabric.
The lessons of pain and beauty become so intertwined that they’re forever joined. I wouldn’t say it defines me, but this story is woven in so tightly now that I can’t separate it from who I’ve become.
This is my family, somewhere around 1986. You can tell by my sister’s hair. She was so good at feathering.
I grew up in a small town in Oregon. My parents were new Christians and we had a sweet childhood. My mom was an especially bright spot, light of the world really.
Right before my 14th birthday my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was 40. She was a nurse, the cancer was aggressive, she was aggressive, but it still metastasized. Her lungs, her spine and eventually her brain.
The next 12 years saw 9+ surgeries, 4 seasons of…
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