Black Coffee, Cancer and Cinnamon Chili

“I have a problem,” my mother said as she raised her cup of black coffee to her lips. I looked into her eyes and braced myself to hear those devastating words. The cancer is back.

This is not how I thought our day would start.

In 2004, my mother went through a round of chemo and radiation that left her unable to eat, walk and barely talk. “They’re killing me,” she said to me as she laid on the gurney in the emergency room. “Please make this stop.” The feeding tube in her stomach has now given her an ulcer. The doctor says that she needs to be admitted. “Please make this stop.” I stare at my mother, but this is not my mother. This is a woman who weighed 180 lbs., but now weighs less than 115. This is a woman who has oozing ulcers in her mouth and doesn’t have the strength to sit up in the bed. This is a woman who I am feeding through a tube.

I want to remember my mother as Superwoman; a fierce woman not to be reckoned with. One day, on her way home from work, she was confronted by a purse snatcher. I don’t remember much about that day, there was some mention of police and hospital and a broken nose. I could see that my mom’s nose seemed okay, so it must have been the bad guy’s nose that was broken. And I was right. Not only did the assailant not get her purse, but she also broke his nose. She walked away leaving him lying on the ground in a pool of his blood.

But every superhero has a weakness and my mother’s kryptonite is bugs. As bold and brave as my mother is, she will turn into a stark-raving, screaming madwoman at the sight of a bug. We never had a garden back then because there was a slight chance that my mom would dig up a worm. The best memories were of her trying to clean my brother, Doug’s, room.

He collected bugs. He was so fascinated by bugs that we would call him “Doug Bug.” To this day, he can still catch a fly in midair with his bare hands. It would drive my mother crazy.

I look up to my mother. She is brilliant, funny, and the most lovable person I know. She can also be the most frustrating woman to be around. My mom knows enough about computers to play her card games, access Facebook, and even Skype with her grandchildren.

Anything more than that is an exercise in futility.

Mom received a Notepad as a gift and she called me to let me know how excited she was to be able to read all her favorite books on it. “It even has Wi-Fi!” she said. “That’s how you’ve been able to read your books,” I told her. “That’s not the game you can do all your exercises on?” she asked. I smile and say “No mom, that’s called a Wii.”

When I think about the conversations my siblings have had with our mother, I can only smile and say that’s my mom. On her visit with my sister, Sherry was cleaning out her garage when my mom came tiptoeing in and whispering. “There’s a person on the phone, but I didn’t think you wanted to talk with him right now,” She said. “No, tell him I’m in the bathroom,” Sherry whispered back. “I didn’t answer the phone,” Mom said. Puzzled, Sherry asked, “So why are we whispering?” Then there is the time that my mother woke up, took her shower, got dressed, and drank her coffee. Luckily my brother, Steve, came home to see her ready for work and informed her that it was 7 pm, and not 7 am.

My mother moved to San Diego five years ago to escape the winters of Pittsburgh. Her visit here should be filled with happiness and kisses on the cheek from her great-grandkids. I’m not prepared to talk about cancer. I’m just not.

When she begged me to stop the radiation, I believed I was agreeing to her death. On her next visit to her doctor, we informed him that she would no longer be receiving any treatments. He replied was that she no longer needed treatments as they can no longer find any traces of cancer. Prayer is truly powerful!

Being the warrior that she is, my mother recovered in three months. She gained 40 lbs. within six months and was back to playing bingo. She developed a healthy appetite. I would tell her to eat until she bursts. After all, she earned it.

“I have a problem,” she said. She seemed to take longer than usual to swallow and yet I did not want to know what was to follow. “I don’t know why” she continued, “but I can’t swim on my stomach anymore.” I stare at her for a full minute. “Wait, what?” I asked. “I can only swim on my back,” she said.

My mom is referring to last summer when she went swimming in my sister’s pool. The pool is massive, so massive that you have to climb up a 6-foot tall ladder to get in it and it is the length of her backyard. My mother can swim the length of the pool, but only on her back.

Sitting in the diner, having breakfast with this woman who is so concerned that she can no longer breaststroke, I want to cry, but I could only laugh. My mom looks at me curiously and I realize she is very serious. Relieved I say to her, “Mom, you’re 83 years old. The fact that you can swim the length of the pool is remarkable! Doesn’t that make you a little proud of yourself?” “Not to mention that you can climb that ladder.” She smiles at me and says” I guess you’re right”

My mother, as an authoritative figure allowed us to grow, learn, love and, most of all, laugh.

I laugh every time I think about her putting cinnamon instead of seasoning salt in the chili. It took years before we got up the nerve to eat chili again. The day the chili died, as we call it, will always be one of the many fond memories of my mom that I am blessed to have.