A Grandmother’s Love

“Those we love don’t go away, they walk beside us everyday. Unseen, unheard but always near. Still loved, still missed, and held so dear.”

This road we have traveled since April of 2016 has been filled with up’s and down’s, a true test of strength and determination, always a case of mind over matter, and a whole lot of letting go of expectations and just living life one day at a time.

The decision to move forward with chemotherapy treatment was one of the hardest decisions I have had to make, while at the same time allowing myself to be ok with the feelings of anger towards it. I didn’t want to have to receive chemotherapy, no one does. No wants to have cancer, or go through anything difficult for that matter.

Not even 10 months earlier, I had watched my grandmother pass away from the very short-lived chemo treatments she was receiving after she was diagnosed with lymphoma. I remember dropping everything to drive almost five hours home to be with her soon after finding out. I stopped at Barnes & Noble and Starbucks to put together a bag of treats I had hoped would keep her spirits up while sitting through treatments. A Vera Bradley bag to keep everything in. Mints for the awful taste chemo leaves. Magazines. A journal to write down her thoughts, just as she had every day up until her last days at home. Candy, well because everyone going through a hard time needs candy. I remember writing out the card I included in the bag, believing at that time this was going to be a battle she could win. Because she told me she would. “I’ll beat this, Sammy”. “Of course you will, Gram.”

I spent the night with my grandparents at their house that night, it would be the last night my grandmother would ever be there. I remember following my grandparents to the treatment center at the local hospital the next morning, thinking to myself how fast my grandfather was driving that I could barely keep up with him. He was nervous, I know. And so was I. My grandparents were the type of people you thought as a kid (and now as an adult) would live forever. Their love, all 65 years of it, is the kind of love we strive for, we wish for, we hope for. A love that doesn’t always come easy, but one that takes compromise, some bickering and lots of work. They were energetic, always on the go. They spent their winters in Florida, and their summers at their cottage on Lake Ontario. We had all just been home the previous month for a family reunion. We had so much fun that day, special memories were made that will never be forgotten. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. I sat in the treatment room that day, sitting by my grandmother’s side while she took turns trying to sleep and taking sips of her water trying to stay hydrated. The same exact thing I would be doing 10 months later. After my grandmother passed away, just two weeks later, I vowed I would never receive chemotherapy if ever put in that situation. How can something that is supposed to cure you, kill you? Why was the medicine worse for her than the actual cancer. After living such a long and good life, why in the world would things end this way?

10 months later, when I was told I would need chemotherapy as a result of my cancer being aggressive (based heavily on a test score printed out on a piece of paper mind you), I was beside myself. What do I do now? I knew there were alternate options, and I spent all my free time researching. I wrote everything down for my very first appointment with my Oncologist; from alternative treatment centers in California, to special diets and juicing with cannabis oil. When I eagerly and excitedly read to her my notes I had spent so much time on, she looked at me and told me, with tears in her eyes, that I reminded her so much of her daughter. Strong. Determined. Stubborn. She told me that if I wanted to take a chance with those other options, she would support me and she would schedule an appointment for me to meet with the alternative medicine doctor at the clinic. She would even make referrals for me at the best hospitals in our country. But then she looked at me, with more tears in her eyes, and told me that in all her years of studying and carrying out clinical trials at Sloan Kettering Hospital in NYC and seeing with her own eyes what works in the long run and what doesn’t, and that if i were her daughter, the chemotherapy regimen followed by radiation was my very best option to watch my own children grow into adults and hopefully be blessed with grandchildren just as my grandparents had been with all of us. It was at that moment that all other options didn’t really matter anymore. I wasn’t making this decision for me. I needed to make a decision for my family and for our future.

I was given the option to wait before I started my treatment; to take some time to think and adjust. I declined, and we started the following week. I wasn’t angry anymore. I made a decision, though, that this treatment would not put an end to my life. It would not define me. I would continue to be strong. Determined. Stubborn. We didn’t cancel any plans we had previously made and I pushed through on the days I found it hardest to. I continued to coach soccer, work two to three days a week, workout as much as I could, we went camping, we spent time with friends and family. We made the most out of the cards we were dealt. Because those were choices that I could make. Things I could control.
Our lives are full of unexpected events that are out of our control. It is the way we deal with them, on both an emotional and physical level, that we either survive it or we don’t. It either defines us, or it doesn’t. We can either bow down to the expectations of falling weak to an unfortunate situation, or we can find peace in it and stand tall and proud with strength and determination. It is our choice. No one can make it for us. And no one can take that choice away from us. Be proud of standing up and being courageous. Be stubborn. Because you only have one life to live, one chance to prove to yourself that you did it. One chance to say you survived.

My grandmother never got the chance to use the bag of treats I bought her that day. Later, the day before my lumpectomy, my mom gave me the same bag of treats, in a very similar bag. I carry both with me at all times. They give me peace, and are a daily reminder of the strong women who have made me who I am today. The card I wrote to my grandmother had remained unopened, sitting cautiously on the bottom of the bag surrounded by individually wrapped candies, mint flavored gum and the journal that remains empty. I had wondered what I wrote, what words of encouragement I had hoped to give her. I often wonder what the pre-cancer Sam would have written in a card to herself. So, today, after treatment number fifteen, alive and strong, and cuddled up in the afghan that my grandmother hand knitted for our engagement gift fourteen years ago, I opened the card:

Dear Gram ~
You are one of the strongest people I know, one of the most loving, and one who taught us so much. We will beat this together, we are all sending so many prayers and love to you every single second.
“You never know how strong you are until
being strong is the only choice you have.”
Just a little something to let you know we are thinking about you, even when we can’t be there with you.
We love you to the moon.
Sammy