Immersed in Memories

Six years ago this week, in April 2018, my seven sisters and I gathered in Colorado to spend time together after our sister Mary Jo had been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. It ended up being the last time all eight of us were together in the same place at the same time. Mary Jo died on June 16, 2019.

Cancer is awful. I saw Mary Jo three more times before she died. Watching her decline and seeing her just weeks before her death were such difficult, but also precious, visits. I talked to her on the phone, until that became too taxing for her. I saved some of those last messages. Her voice and her presence are still felt in my heart, in memories, in pictures.

When we gathered in Colorado that April, it was also the first time we had all been together since our sister Leonice’s diagnosis of endometrial cancer the previous year. We didn’t know it then, but Aileen would become the fifth sister to face a cancer diagnosis—follicular lymphoma in 2020. Zita and I are also breast “cancer-havers” with 35 years of survivorship between us. (Thank you Nancy Stordahl for the term “cancer-havers.” )

Here is a post I wrote on my previous blog—Habitual Gratitude—after returning home from that trip six years ago. Below is an excerpt from the post.

I am still unpacking my luggage and my emotions from our recent time together. I so appreciate that things fell into place and that we spent four days in one another's company. The impetus was my sister Mary Jo's metastatic breast cancer diagnosis, but also a desire to celebrate our sisterhood.

And that we did. My favorite picture of us together is one I won't share here. It is the 8 of us giving a certain finger to a certain disease called cancer.

Here is a picture I will share though:

My hand is the one with the green bracelet, and clockwise it goes in age order to Ruth, Zita, Leonice, Ann, Mary Jo, Aileen, and Danita.

These hands have worked hard on our family farm, written letters and emails to one another, dialed phone numbers, sent packages, made coffee and food to share. And helped provide many hugs over many years. Just to name a few things. We each have a hand in our family's story and in our sisterhood. Onward we go. Let the story continue!

To tell the story, we must share the memories. And make new ones. Without Mary Jo’s earthly presence. And yet, her presence will always be here.

Just as I was unpacking these memories and looking through more photos, the blogger and author I mentioned above-Nancy Stordahl—shared this post “Why are you STILL talking about cancer?” It is worth the read. As she writes, there is no tidy endpoint to the cancer experience or to grief. It doesn’t mean we have stopped living and it doesn’t mean we are stuck. It only means that we are honoring the days we get and honoring those whose days are done. Thank you Nancy.

Onward, into this day, immersed in memories, carrying a few scars, and deeply grateful to be here.