Cancer has always been an unwelcome visitor in my family. It visits so frequently that it’s become an inevitable guest, always taking someone with it.
Despite my family’s painful familiarity with cancer, I always thought it only affected my older family , like my grandparents. So, for a long time, I thought, “When the time comes, I’ll deal with it.” Except the “time” came early—summer of 2023, to be exact.
I was 20, and time felt endless in this new decade of my life. With immense energy and optimism, I looked forward to experiencing every milestone, like my graduation, first job, or wedding, with my mother on the sidelines, cheering me on as she always had.
Suddenly, the excitement for those moments was taken away—my mother was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer.
I recall weeks before my mother broke the news, she kept mentioning that she was sick, and that time was precious. I initially overlooked her remarks until one day in the middle of July when my mother sat me and my sister down in our living room. Noticing her teary eyes and serious demeanour, it occurred to me that she’d been dropping hints the entire summer, and that evening was when she chose to tell us the news.
She said they found a tumour and that she’d been showing symptoms. I recall my sister crying while I felt numbness overtake my body. The initial shock sent me into denial, and despite the high probability that a lung tumour is usually malignant, I kept telling myself that the biopsy results would show it was benign.
The news I dreaded came in August, and the world suddenly caved in on me. Every ounce of hope I held onto was gone, and I spurred myself into a Googling rabbit hole. Every Google search told me she had less than a year to live, and I crumbled at the vision of a life where I wouldn’t grow old with my mother.
I felt every emotion I could think of, with anger and anxiety being the most prominent. I was angry at the fact that cancer “chose” my mother, who was otherwise healthy and a non-smoker. I was also furious that this was the reality I got thrown into, envious of my peers who were thinking of graduation and family trips with their parents.
All these unanswered questions turned into anxiety. Given how aggressive lung cancer usually is, I found myself plagued with worries about the uncertainty of our lives from that point on. I had a hard time saying the word “cancer” because it represented a new future, one where my mother might no longer be present.
I never asked my mother what her life expectancy was because I became such an avoidant person and would rather not count down the days I have left with her. So, while I knew she was receiving radiation therapy, I kept myself in the dark about when she might away. This lack of knowing casted clouds of anxiety that would follow me no matter where I was, regardless of whether I was in class or out with my friends.
I became constantly worried about a sudden decline in her health that I could no longer concentrate on the present. My mother also insisted I stay in school, so I was consumed by tremendous guilt as I couldn’t be there for her. I had so many accomplishments I wanted to share with her, but before I could, I felt like cancer was stealing the time I had left to be with her. I no longer perceived my 20s as an era full of endless possibilities. Instead, each second felt fragile and uncertain.
Soon enough, I found myself living in a future that had yet to arrive. I decided to seek counselling to help me overcome my anxieties, and it was during these sessions I realized I needed to change my perspective on time. My counsellor told me focusing on time scarcity is unhelpful and that I must focus on the present.
This felt like an enormous challenge for someone constantly thinking about the future. I couldn’t even verbalize the word “cancer” without getting emotional and becoming overwhelmed by fear and denial. So, for me, shifting my focus to the present meant I had to confront the anxiety and the guilt I’d been carrying.
I gradually acclimated to my new reality by reframing what matters at that moment. By appreciating the fleeting nature of the present, I began prioritizing time spent with my mother and allowed myself to enjoy those moments. Whether it means visiting home more often or going for evening walks with my mother, focusing on what I could do helped me cherish my time with her without being burdened by circumstances beyond my control.
I was also surprised to learn the amount of my peers who also experienced parental illness. By opening up to the community around me, I found solace in finding others with similar experiences of enduring parental illness. One common advice I received was to remain resilient and persevere despite life’s challenges. It was through these conversations I realized I must continue to show grace, keep living my life, and not succumb to anxiety.
Being resilient was no longer just for me—it was also for my mother, who was fighting hard to be here.
Fast forward to today, my mother’s still alive and is still receiving radiation therapy. Reflecting on the person I was last year; I’ve grown in ways I never anticipated. Although I still get frightened when I see her breathing get heavier, I no longer allow these fears to consume my thoughts or prevent me from enjoying the present moment.
After all, time is fleeting, and we can only make the most out of what we got.
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