this is life.

my mom has CANCER.  my MOM has cancer.  MY mom has cancer?  MY MOM HAS CANCER!

a few days ago, she sent me a quick text:  You busy?  i was just about to drift off to dreamland, but i'm never too busy to chat with her.  when i answered her phone call, the lady on the other end stated simply, well, shit.  i have cancer.  and, in perfect {my} mom-fashion, i'm thinking, you were asking if i was too busy to hear your biopsy news?  that you have cancer?  i don't know how long it took me to respond, but i do remember wanting to laugh at her.  laugh.  you're joking, right?  c'mon, gramma d.  but, cancer it is.

at some point, i stopped worrying about responding and just focused on listening.  appointment, next week.  surgery, not until next month.  caught early.  possibility to spread.  finger-like in its ability to stretch and grow elsewhere.  will surgery grab it all?  likely chemo and or radiation.

and, while no two cancers and treatments are the same, i couldn't help but loop to my Grandmother's battle.  i just can't go there yet.

as we hung up the phone, i thought there was no way i could fall asleep after receiving such news.  but, before i knew it, tess was crying, and i was to my feet before i had opened my eyes.  then, my mother's words rang out again: i have cancer.  no way.  i just didn't believe it.  i thought maybe i had dreamed it - enough that i opened up my text from her and saw her simplistic You busy?  it was real.  this fog was so thick and so heavy.  the words kept ringing out, but the tears never came.  i went about my day, thinking of my mother, walking around her new home, going about her day as if it were any other day.

but, this isn't just any other day.  this day, the 17th of july, will forever be marked in our family.  we met for dinner at nana lynn's new place (yes, she's finally moved in!) and had the first of many joint dinners to be had.  after the plates were empty and the boys had retreated to comfier seats, lynn emerged with a pink fleece blanket.  specifically, one with certain pink ribbons.  my mom and lynn had a moment, but the entire night, that was the only mention of the reality of her new life.

the next morning, the tears came.  i woke up crying.  ben left later than usual, only to return soon after with a steaming latte for me.  more tears.  he hugged me, and sweetly said, we'll get through this.  still tears.  talking with my mother soon after, we both had tears saturating our conversation.  and naturally, right now.

how can this be real?

i can't stop thinking of that blanket.  my mother is now in that club - that pink ribbon club.  i mean, it's not easy to say those ribbons haven't affected you on some level... don't you know a lady to have battled breast cancer before?  {ugh, i said it.  breast.  cancer.  breast cancer!}  we probably all do.  but on this level, this close?  lynn is a survivor, but i didn't know her back then.  so oddly enough, it hasn't impacted me like it does now.  does that make sense without sounding insensitive?  i'm struggling with my clarity.  i was hoping that by putting my thoughts to the keys, i'd make sense and process this information, but i'm feeling like i'm paddling with one oar; around and around, going nowhere.

send my mother a prayer, a positive vibe, a hopeful wish - whatever you do when you feel weak and need some strength.  maybe add me, as well.