I am writing this because I would like to let everyone know what a true fighter my mother, Mary A. Jefferson, was. Not only was she a fighter, she truly was an angel; she would be the one to give someone the shirt off her back, and she had a calming effect on those around her and could smooth over the worst day. Mom was respectful of others but could also give them much needed advice without them ever realizing it.

    Mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer in 1968, at the young age of 25, and had a hysterectomy in November of that year. Mom had delivered my sister in February (and, I later found out, she had lost three others between my birth in 1963 and my sister’s). My parents were separated when I was five and, because my mother was ill and not able to take care of us, my father got custody of my sister and me. In our early years we did not see her much, but when we did, we were her princesses and she let us know that we were her world. Mom remarried in 1974, but unfortunately her new husband was an alcoholic who could not keep a job and did little to help her. Not only was Mom battling cancer, she was the sole support and rock of the household.

    I lived with my mom and stepfather in 1978; I lasted only a couple of years in their house. But I never left my relationship with my mother, and when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, she became my best friend.

    Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer on July 9, 1979, and she had a left radical mastectomy on July 13. Mom was always open and adamant about regular mammograms and pelvic exams, both for herself and for us girls. Mom faithfully had her check up every year and 1979 was no exception. Mom had her mammogram done in mid-May and she got a clear report back.

    So when Mom came to me at the beginning of July with a strange look on her face and asked me to look at her left breast near her nipple, I was scared and told her to have it checked as soon as possible. It looked like someone was poking a finger through her skin from the inside. Mom contacted her doctor, who immediately did a biopsy in his office and told her the devastating news. Mom agreed to have the surgery right away. Along with the left radical mastectomy, they also removed numerous lymph nodes from under and down into her left arm.

    Mom came back fighting and she would not stay in bed and was back to work in six short weeks. The treatments, which made her ill for months on end, slowed her down some, but she continued to work full time. Mom chose not to have reconstructive surgery and was fitted for a prosthesis; she was not at all shy about having to wear it.

    Mom had many good years in remission. Then on June 15, 1989, she found out that the cancer had returned and it was now in her lower back between her third and fourth lumbar, down to her tail bone, and active in her left hip. There were five inoperable tumors on her spine. Mom could barely walk at times, but she hung in there through her chemo treatments. She vowed to beat this cancer again and she did! The doctors were dumbfounded that she was able to keep fighting the cancer and live through the extensive treatments.

    When Mom’s first grandchild was born at the end of January 1989, she became Mom’s main focus and her reason for wanting to stay alive. Mom continued to work full time and often took care of her grandchild, as any other grandparent would. When her grandson was born in August 1992, he was her life, since he was the first boy to be born on her side of the family in over 40 years! 

    The chemo treatments did not hold back the cancer for very long. On May 20, 1993, Mom received the news that the cancer had came back in her spinal area. Mom now went through 18 weeks of radiation treatments. I often went with her; she wore her tattoos proudly, vowing again that she would fight back. Mom got a radiation burn about the size of a half dollar. The skin appeared like it was adhered to her spine, and it caused her more pain than the cancer. But, believe it or not, Mom was still walking and getting along without assistance. Although she was often ill, Mom somehow managed to continue to work full time and to make her comeback.

    I had my daughter in late December 1993 and Mom was right there for me. I had some complications, and she would not leave my side. Mom was my support, and she could not have been a prouder grandparent. 

    On February 7, 1996, more devastating news came when it was discovered that the cancer had finally metastasized to her bones. Mom’s whole right side was affected—the cancer started in her shoulder, went through her torso, and continued down her leg to her knee. It was news we did not want to hear. Mom went through 40 intense radiation treatments and finally had to cut back on her work, going to part time. Her employer was concerned, since her right side was full of cancer and her bones were so brittle from the treatment, that a fall or even a slight bump could cause her to could crumble inside, and suggested she take disability retirement, but she would not have any of that. Mom would not back down and went back to work full time after recovering from her treatment. Mom stood strong, continuing to work as she endured more radiation treatments on her left side as a precautionary measure, from November 1995 to April 1996.

    Despite the precautions, a scan on March 28, 1996, showed that the cancer had now spread to her left hip and lower spine. This required six three-hour-long treatments of chemotherapy every 21 days. Mom would have her treatments on a Friday afternoon and would be back to work on Monday. She was very weak but she managed somehow. 

    Unlike during her other treatments, Mom lost all of her hair during this cycle, but she took it very well. When her hair started falling out, she had her two oldest grandchildren shave her head before it all came out in clumps. My daughter, the youngest, would brush her head with her own baby brush, telling her grandma, “It will grow back, I promise.” Mom would ask her to rub her head, and, once—in a true Mom moment—Mom told my daughter it was as smooth as a baby’s butt. I thought they were going to fall on the floor with laughter! Mom’s hair did grow back, more beautiful than ever and straight at that, although it had been very curly all her life.

    One morning, as she was getting up to go to work, Mom fractured three ribs on her right side. As usual, this did not slow her down; she just wrapped them with an ace bandage. Nevertheless, Mom was forced to retire in August 1997; at her retirement party, she was still going strong.

    Mom enjoyed her retirement. Mom took a few short trips to Bodega Bay and other places when she was feeling good. She stayed strong on the computer in between her naps and medications. During a chemotherapy treatment in the first week of June 1998, she had three strokes that paralyzed her right side. At this point we were all concerned with her failing health, but because Mom had always come back, we did not know what to expect. Mom went in for physical and speech therapy and thrived—she was able to walk and she regained the partial use of her right hand.

    It was about September when Mom started slowing down and sleeping more. Mom would get up at 5:00 a.m. as usual; have her coffee, breakfast, and meds; and go back to bed. I would call her from work at 9:00, when her next group of medication was due, to check on her and to make sure she was up to take them, and then she would lie down until lunchtime. After lunch she would lie down again, but managed to cook dinner most evenings. I would call her again at 8:00 p.m. to tell her goodnight and that I loved her.

    Mom needed strong doses of OxyContin to manage the pain in her bones from the cancer throughout her body, which was made worse by the cold winter weather, and she became weaker. In late February 1999, her mother came to take care of her. On March 4, Mom fell while trying to get into the shower and was taken to the hospital. They discovered that the cancer had metastasized to her brain and the fluid surrounding her brain.

    I was with her in the hospital the morning Mom was told that she could have chemo once again but be sick for the rest of her days, or she could let nature take its course and not be sick. She looked first at me and then at the doctor and told him she would not take the treatment. After the doctor left, we sat there together on her bed for the longest time, just sharing the silence and knowing all was now in God’s hands. There would be no more comebacks and fights. It was just a matter of time.

    The doctors had given her less than six months, but I knew in my heart it was less, and hospice was called. Mom wanted to pass at home, so once hospice was in order, I brought Mom home, where my grandmother cared for her during the first week. I could tell Mom was declining and, since she and I had always been very open, I asked her doctors for the truth about the time she had left. They were vague at first, but when I told them that I knew they must have a more realistic time frame, they told me that it would be about six weeks.

    My heart was broken, knowing I was going to lose my mom. I was not ready. Even having all these extra years with her did not prepare me for what was to come. Mom continued to hold her own and I did not share the information I had with others. I took time off work and moved my daughter and two dogs into my mother’s house to help take care of her. I read the hospice booklets and was very open with her nurse so I would know what to expect after each visit.

    Easter was on Sunday, April 4, and Mom was not doing all that well. We couldn’t decide whether to have a dinner or not. When I got up on Saturday morning, I decided we would make the best of the day because that is what Mom would do if the situation were different. We had the family over for Easter dinner. Mom came to the table but could not eat, so I knew in my heart that she had waited until this day to see everyone together one last time and that she would be leaving soon.

    Mom and I had made a promise to each other that morning in the hospital when we got the news: She would go into the hospital bed only when she said so and not before. On Monday morning I got up and tended to Mom as usual. She had me sit her on the edge of her bed and she patted the bed beside her. Mom had been able to speak only a few words for the past week or so; struggling, she said, “Sit down.” I sat next to her and she leaned her head on my shoulder. We sat there, with a silent but strong bond. Neither of us spoke but we both knew what was to come.

    Almost an hour later, Mom lifted her head and whispered, “It’s time.” Knowing exactly what she meant, I helped her up, got her into her wheelchair, and wheeled her into the living room where the bed had been set up almost a month earlier. I helped her get in the bed and made sure she was comfortable. For a while, Mom was awake on and off; then she went into a deep sleep which she came out of for short periods.

    I called my pastor to give her last rites and the family to let them know what was going on. I stayed with her that day and slept on the floor that night, knowing the end was close. Mom made it through the night, but did not wake up at all on Tuesday, April 6, 1999. I was holding my mother in my arms when she passed at 5:12 that evening. Mom had a smile on her face, and I am sure it was because she had fulfilled all that she had set out to do and was ready to be out of her pain and suffering. It was the hardest day of my life, letting her go, but it was a blessed day as well.

    My mother fought a long, hard battle for her children and especially for her three grandchildren—Grammy’s angels were her world, the reason for her fight to stay alive. Mom was only 55 years old when she passed; for 30 years she had been going through treatments for some type of cancer. Mom made herself a survivor and fought her battle well. Mom was very strong, both inside and out, and, despite being ill for most of my life, she never used her cancer as a crutch. Mom always made sure there was an income in her house.

    I have a copy of a body scan that clearly shows cancer in almost every area of her body. How she endured this disease for years amazes me. She never showed fear, even in her last month, when she was fully aware of what was happening to her. All Mom wanted was her dignity, which I made sure she had. I can only hope that if I am ever faced with cancer, I can be as strong as she was. Mom set the bar high and is a great example.

    Living with someone with extreme cancer made me more aware of others and their needs, whether they have expressed them or not. I am stronger as a person and more realistic about how life ends. Sometimes it is not so good, but at other times it can be peaceful—yet it is so painful for those left behind, even for years afterwards. It is still painful for me at almost 10 years. My mother taught me patience for the things we cannot change and to fight the battle to prove the doctors wrong with all our might—Mom always had a positive attitude, saying she would win, and she did.

    Mom taught both my daughter and me the importance of laughter, believing it was the best medicine. One day not long before Mom passed, she asked my daughter, who was just five, for a kiss. In true form, my daughter grabbed her bottom and said, “Don’t kiss these cheekies!” and then pointed to the cheek on her face and said, "Kiss these cheekies!” They both laughed so hard they cried.

    Although my daughter never knew my mother in good health she has very fond memories of Grammy Grams and we still laugh at the jokes they shared. And we both cry afterwards because it still hurts; we wish she were here to give us hugs or kisses, to talk to on those bad days we all have. We know that she would have told us to think instead about what we can do to make things better, to learn from what we are dealt, and to take the challenges head on. We are sad that she was taken away so early, but we realize that she is in a much better place, no longer in pain, and we can hold her close in our memories.

    I now have conservatorship of my mother’s mom, who has Alzheimer’s, and I know that what I learned from my mother will give me the strength I need to get through this. Mom taught me to work hard for what I need and the rest will come. My own daughter is at my side, and as young as she is, she has learned compassion for others, to step forward for those less fortunate, and to take nothing in her own life for granted. You don’t realize how good you have it until you see what others are up against. I am a single parent, I have been employed with the same employer for many years, I own my own home and auto, and have way too many furry pets. I have been blessed in many ways.

    I want others, most importantly my own daughter, to know that preventative measures are a must: monthly self-exams, yearly mammograms and pelvic exams, and, if you feel comfortable with it, genetic testing so that you can consider having a mastectomy before getting cancer if you have the gene. It is also important to make men more aware that they too are susceptible to breast cancer and to have support groups for them. If you have any doubts about your health, never be afraid to ask a doctor; it is never too soon to ask questions. Sometimes you have to push the doctors, as I did when I needed a time frame when my mother went into hospice; they were not protecting me by not telling the truth.

    I especially want others to know that there are people who have gone through what they’re going through; they are not alone in this fight.