Small

The smallest of objects can bring on the largest of reactions: fear, anxiety, anger, confusion, love. Mom found a lump in her breast a few weeks ago. Not too worried about it because I knew she had lumps before that were fibrous and not serious. And great relief that she scheduled an appointment with her doctor, in spite of her past history. Natural plan of action is taken. Mom goes and has her breast scanned. And when I text her today I totally expected a response along these lines, "It's OK. Just another lumpy boob. No biggie." Instead I get, "It's not good."

It's not good? What do you mean it's not good? You're my mom. You can't have a "it's not good" result. I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready to see you worried about your health. I'm not ready to be worried about your health. I'm not ready to think of you not being my rock. I'M NOT READY. And from the look in your eyes tonight, you're not ready either. Good. I don't want you to be ready.

So, I handle this situation the best way I know how. I grab my dog and head directly to your house for a gourmet meal at Applebee's. Where else? I just want normalcy right now. And a smile on my mom's face. And a big, squeezy hug from her. After dinner we go home and watch clips of Mad TV. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

The best and most wonderful moments of my life are spent laughing with my mom. Piled up in her room talking and laughing and sharing the sweetest, most precious moments anyone could ever ask for. Oh what a gift I have in my mother. What a sweet, loving joy I have. And I am not ready to even consider this gift anything other than everlasting.

It's probably the size of a walnut or maybe even a Cadburry egg. But, it's looming and ominous and scary. And I hate it. I hate it for me. And I hate it for Mom. And I hate it for Dad. And I hate it for Emily. And I hate it for Asa.

So, what now? Mom goes for her biopsy sometime next week, I assume. And we go from there. Day by day. And I will keep my thoughts positive and my prayers constant. Because I have a gift I'm not ready to let go of. And I will not let go.