I was 13.
I was in 8th grade at Glenn Jr. High.
My best friend was Jennifer Lind.
Jennifer's dad was my mom's personal care physician.
My mom had a LOT of doctors appointments in a short amount of time. I had no clue why.
I remember calling Jennifer and asking her if her dad had said anything about my mom being sick. Of course, with doctor patient confidentiality... she hadn't heard anything.
I remember answering the house phone one day after school and my dad asking about test results. He thought I was my mother. When I told him it was me, he sounded flustered and told me to put mom on the phone.
Perhaps the next day, or a few days later... I can't remember... I was walking home from the bus stop after school.
As I turned down my street, my dad pulled up behind me in the company pickup and told me to get in. He was obviously distraught... but why? I immediately thought he had lost his job. Well, that was silly of me... he was in the company truck. But why was he home so early?
We both walked inside and my mom was sitting at the kitchen counter. She was crying.
"Oh gosh, who died?" I wondered silently... and I started to panic a little.
My parents told me to sit down. I did.
My mom then proceeded to tell me that she found a lump in her breast. And it was cancerous. She had breast cancer.
My dad cried. My dad NEVER cries.
My poor mama... she was trying so hard to be strong.
I went to my room and closed the door. I fell on my bed in the most dramatic way possible and immediately started sobbing.
I was angry. At my parents for not cluing me in sooner. At myself for not realizing what was going on. At Jennifer's dad for not telling us when we asked. But mostly... I was angry at God. I prayed every night for the health and safety of my family. My mom getting cancer was not supposed to be in the cards for my family. "But I pray every night..." I kept thinking to myself. "What's the point of praying if God's just going to let your mom get cancer anyway?"
I listened to a lot of angry music that night. Thinking God hated me. And I so desperately wanted to hate Him back.
My mom knocked on my door a few times throughout the night. I never let her in. I was too consumed in how I felt... I was broken.
My heart breaks all over again as I'm typing this... but for different reasons.
Looking back, I would have let my mama in my room. I would have sat/laid on my bed with her and cried... together.
God didn't hate me... what was I thinking? You see, that's the thing... I was thinking about MYSELF. I wasn't thinking about my sweet, sick mama. How broken HER heart was feeling at the time. How SHE might have felt betrayed by God and her body.
I remember I didn't tell many of my friends that my mom was sick. I didn't want their pity.
She had a mastectomy on the day of one of my basketball games. I don't remember how well I played or if we won... but I do remember being so bummed to see my mama in a hospital bed with one of her breasts missing.
I felt so helpless.
Soon after the surgery, mom started chemo. Her hair fell out soon after. Because I was "so young" I was left in the dark on a lot of things. My older sister Becky and my older niece Ashley helped mom with the hard stuff.
One of mom's requests was that I go to this new church with her. I liked church for the most part, but was still thinking I was angry at God about all of this... but I figured why not?
We started going on a regular basis and that following summer I was saved at youth camp and baptized the following Sunday at church.
Honestly, it's crazy... all of it.
My mom's breast cancer, in a sense, led to my salvation and eternal life in heaven.
God has a way of opening doors for us when we are at our lowest of lows... when we think we hate Him.
Cheers to my mama, Wanda Pape. You're the strongest woman I've ever met. You're a survivor. You're a miracle. You're my blessing.
And cheers to Jesus! For saving my soul.
