Fresh Grief and a Bench
Mary Jo’s Bench
It is near a library and park that have been happy places for her and her family over the last decades. She would appreciate the view.
A name. Two dates. It doesn’t capture her essence, but it’s a start.
It was so meaningful to be there with her husband, two daughters, and one of her seven grandchildren. One of my sisters and my husband also joined us.
I am grateful to be here, alive and well overall. I try not to take that for granted. A breast cancer diagnosis in 2008 brought that point home to me very effectively. Two sisters had been diagnosed with BC before me, and two more sisters have faced other cancer diagnoses more recently. My sister Mary Jo, the second to be diagnosed with BC, in 2006, died of metastatic breast cancer on June 16, 2019. Cancer is ugly and devastating to all, deadly to some.
The last time I saw Mary Jo alive was a few weeks before she died. She had run out of treatment options and had arrived at some peace with that. She suffered tremendously over the course of her cancer treatments and surgeries, and when I saw her for the last time she was becoming quite ill and weak. One of the last things she said to me was “I hope this doesn’t happen to you.” The memory of that moment is seared in my brain and on my heart. Life is not fair. Cancer even less so.
Because of the pandemic, I hadn’t traveled to Colorado since Mary Jo’s memorial service the week after she died. Until last week, on our road trip. As the trip neared, fresh grief was surfacing. I felt it. Wrote about it. Reflected on it. That was compounded by my concern and sadness for yet another BC diagnosis in my family. My niece Sarah just began her chemotherapy treatments this week. We talked on the phone last night. She has a long road ahead, but there’s no evidence the cancer has spread and there are effective treatment and surgery options for her. There is much to be grateful for and plenty of hope to sustain her. Still, life is not fair. Cancer even less so.
As we arrived in Colorado, saw Mary Jo’s family, her home, walked to her bench, the fresh grief subsided. Peace and acceptance arrived. There was sadness. I thought especially about her young grandson, full of life and energy, and how she doesn’t get to be here for that. There was also palpable resilience in her loved ones. Life goes on. She would have wanted it that way.
