Column: Forever a momma’s boy

When I was a baby, I stayed on my mother’s hip. I did not let anyone else hold me, or I would start crying. 

My mother is the most important person in my life, as I grew up without a father. She sacrificed much of her adult life raising three kids with minimal help from the person who helped create her twin boys.

In her nearly 50 years of life, I’ve seen her go through physical and mental abuse, failed relationships and poverty. Despite all the adversity, my mother never gave up and never walked away. 

My mother was my superhero, and I thought that because of all she’d been through, she would become immune to everything. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

Imagine being 20 years old, deep down still being that momma’s boy you were as a child, and being told that your mom had a lump in her chest. 

When my mom initially told me, I brushed it off. I thought, “She’ll be fine; she’s been through a lot and will get through this.” 

I tried to push the idea of her not being here down inside, but the thoughts arrived when she told me she did not want to do chemotherapy. 

My mom has never trusted doctors and is a very spiritual person. She was dead set on embarking on this journey under her terms with natural remedies. 

It’s hard to explain how I felt at that moment. I never thought something like this could happen in my life. I was numb. I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t cry or feel too sad. I was helpless.  

At that point, I wanted to ignore the situation. I thought if my mom wasn’t going to give herself a chance to live, then I should start thinking about my life without her. 

I am a practical person. I believe actions have consequences and don’t believe in blessings or miracles. I am agnostic, but if there were a god, he would not help my mom pass this test without doing the work. 

I became frustrated with her because she wouldn’t budge on taking the treatment despite multiple people telling her that she should.

As the months wore on, her condition became worse, and the pressure to seek help from a doctor increased. 

In December, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I wanted to cry when she told me the news, but no tears came. I wanted to lash out, but there was no anger. 

After receiving the news, I operated as if everything was the same. I wore this mask in front of my friends, peers and coworkers. Behind my silence, there were waves of regret and negative thoughts. Thoughts like, “I wish I’d spent more time with her these last few years,” or “What if she’s not here for my graduation?”

Later that month, I went home for the holidays, and instead of enjoying time with my family, I chastised my mother for her decision and showed my frustration in rude and cruel ways.

I vividly remember an interaction we had. My mom, sister and I were talking about her decision not to take chemotherapy, and I said, “You’re the only parent I have; if you’re not here anymore, I have no one.” She said, “You have a father; you just don’t want to talk to him,” to which I responded, “That’s not my father; that’s just someone you had sex with.”  

I did not mean to be this way, but I felt she was being selfish and not thinking of all the people she meant a lot to. 

The truth is, I was selfish and did not give enough thought to what she must have been going through. I did not consider how it must have felt to be a healthy, god-fearing woman and yet still have your life at risk. 

Thankfully, my mom had a change of heart and decided to partake in chemotherapy and immunotherapy. She has now started treatment and is doing a lot better. She will continue to teach and work as much as she can. 

I have become more hopeful regarding her situation now that she is working with a good team of doctors and physicians. Life has become joyful again, and I appreciate every moment I share with her and my family. I know that this is not the end. 

My superhero has been knocked down, but she will rise again.