The Story that Changed Mine
I met a friend for a glass of wine the other day. It was a ballsy move considering I was a columnist who was four days past deadline on my story and my friend was also the editor waiting for it. Fortunately, she went easy on me—blaming my tardiness on the chaos, the joys and struggles that come with having kids.
Eventually she did finally ask, as nonchalantly as possible, “Do you have a story in mind…?” “No idea.” I said. Though, it wasn’t exactly true. There was a story lingering in the back of my mind. It wasn’t really mine though, it belonged to a woman I know. Still, I couldn’t seem to untangle myself from it. I tried to find a different story, but couldn’t. So here I am. Telling you someone’s story that changed me.
The woman is a classmate of mine. I wouldn’t say we were best friends, but it was a small school—everyone knew everyone. She married her sweetheart and has three kids; her youngest just a few months older than mine. From afar, our lives often aligned via social media as we faced the same struggles and joys of motherhood—even simultaneously dealing with the unwelcomed guest all breastfeeding mothers dread, mastitis. I’ll never forget the afternoon I was soaking in the bath trying to get my own ducts back on track when I read the mother’s Facebook post.
She had been to the doctor about her particularly stubborn breast. There was a reason warm compresses were working. She didn’t have mastitis. She had stage 3 breast cancer.
I remember dropping my phone on the towel beside the tub. I remember sinking below the bubbles and hiding beneath the water until I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I splashed to the surface, gasping for air. It couldn’t be real. She had a baby, she was a mother, she was just like me.
Our online-lives looked different after that. I read each post, holding my breath; updates on treatments and progress. Her blogs were still about the struggles and joys of motherhood, but now had a newfound grace; an understanding of the profound gift these struggles and joys actually are. In one post she wondered if she would live long enough for her baby girl to remember her… I wept as I read it.
The years passed. The mother completed her treatments and seemed to cautiously settle into a new normal with posts of family vacations, holidays, and even recipes. I found myself breathing easier. She would make it. We would all live to see her babies grow.
And then the cancer returned. This time in her bones. She eventually stopped blogging. Then friends started posting old photos of her. Then a call for prayers. Then finally the post that the mother had, with a tear, passed away in her husband’s arms. I was with my little girl when I read it—the little girl who was just a few month’s younger than the mother’s little girl—and I knew I would never be the same.
Three days after the mother passed away, my editor asked me, “Do you have a story in mind…?” I should have said yes. It’s the story of a beautiful young mother—a woman who gave me, and the thousands who followed her journey, the gift of perspective. Who taught us what an honor it is to be living these chaotic lives filled with the joys and the struggles and the children who love us. Every day I will wish the mother’s story could have been different, and every day I will be grateful for the story that changed mine.