A short story about a girl who smiles

Let me tell you a short story- a story about a girl who knows pain intimately and still smiles.

This girl was born into a family that had tragically lost a daughter at 9 months old to cancer, but they were moving on- the doctors said this was a rarity. But alas, this girl didn’t know a normal childhood—whatever that is—past her second year when her big brother was diagnosed with brain cancer as well. She remembers laughing with her brother, hiding in his closet, playing with him and his friends, and being protected by him- because that’s what big brothers do for their little sisters. She also remembers him being sick. She remembers that he loved strawberry shakes in the hospital and that he wore bandanas to cover his head, which was absent of hair and skull from chemo and over a dozen surgeries. She remembers that in spite of all this, he just didn’t like needles- and neither does she.

When her big brother was sick, this girl didn’t just miss him. This little girl also missed her mommy. When mommy was at the hospital taking care of big brother, she would climb into bed with daddy at night and ask for her. Daddy told her that she was at the hospital with brother and she would cry and say that she needs her mommy too. They would cry together and fall asleep. And when she was 7 and big brother was 16 someone came to school to pick her up because her big brother had died. She didn’t know that she shouldn’t be concerned about leaving her bike at school. And a few weeks later, she didn’t know that mommy wouldn’t like it if she took a toy from his room- because he didn’t need it anymore, she thought.

Still, this little girl grew up happy. Yes, she cried when she missed her brother. And yes, sometimes she stared into the windows of neighbors’ houses wondering what it must be like to still have brothers and sisters. But still, she had parents that loved her and a puppy; she was happy and she still smiled.

As this confident little girl started to become an intelligent, beautiful woman, her life seemed comparatively uneventful. She was a cheerleader and got good grades. But it wasn’t long before she stumbled onto a roller-coaster. Her mom got breast cancer but they took care of if quickly- a dip in the tracks. The second time her mom got breast cancer was another small drop in the tracks of her life. Then she met a boy and they fell in love- picture an uphill and maybe a loop or two. Then came her mom’s stage 4 lung cancer- that was a drop. So were the surgeries and the long recovery. This young woman eventually married the boy and the tracks corkscrewed a few times (that’s a good thing). And then the train jumped the tracks into no territory this young woman knew.

The sickness was genetic and she had it too. Her mom, her brother, and her sister all had what she has. Well, what does she do with that? Celebrate the answers and the knowledge? Mourn her future? Develop survivor’s guilt? This young woman is a planner; she is a list-maker. So, she planned and made lists. And she cried. And so did her boy. They cried for her sister. They cried for her big brother. They cried for her mom. They cried for her dad. They cried for her. They cried for their previously-planned future.

Next came her mom’s pancreatic cancer and subsequent surgery and treatment, then job loss, and then her own breast cancer and bilateral mastectomy. She still found time to smile, but it was sometimes hard- especially with the 6 month recovery from her surgery. She found some time to cry but there was more numbness. That was all in one year- one long, tiring, trying year. But it was going to get better, she said. She believed with her boy that the next summer would be theirs to enjoy.

It wasn’t so. Her mom’s cancer spread and she began to wither away. The doctors confirmed there was nothing else to be done and this young woman called her mommy. She told her mom she was going to miss her. She told her she didn’t want her to go. She told her mom she doesn’t want someone else to mother her because she wants her own mommy. And she told her to wait for her- for at least one more kiss, one more conversation, one more hug. Her mom did wait. This young woman held her mom, kissed and hugged her, and told her mom she loved her. She did everything that a daughter could do. She was faithful, loving, caring, and selfless. She stayed by her mom’s bed with her daddy and her boy for 15 hours a day for over a week until her mom didn’t wake up. Before her mommy died and after, she cried with her daddy just like they did 20 years ago because, again, they both missed her mommy. And for the first time in the last 5 years, this young woman didn’t have to bare the anguishing burden of ambiguity, of always wondering how much longer she has with her mom or if her mommy will be at Christmas this year, but it came at a steep price.

This might seem like a sad story. It is a sad story, but it is such a happy story too. This young woman is so strong. Strong doesn’t mean she doesn’t cry or worry. Strong doesn’t mean that she never feels like she got dealt a crappy hand. Strong doesn’t mean that she smiles all the time or for show. Strong means that in the midst of grieving she can say with confidence and honesty that she loved her mommy’s funeral because of all the people her mom touched in life and in her death. Strong means that in spite of—or maybe because of—wondering if her life will mirror her mother’s, she resolves to try to make the most of every day. Strong means she cares about people more than she knew how to before all this; she sees a homeless man and knows he might feel lonely in the midst of people, she talks to someone about to have surgery for cancer and knows he is anxious, she learns someone just lost a family member and is grieving and she knows their hurt and offers herself. Strong means that in the midst of a horrific year she can appreciate what she has and knows that there are people who have struggles greater than her own. Strong means that her experiences have strengthened her faith in Jesus, not weakened it. Strong means that she is grateful for all that God has blessed her with. Strong means she still finds time to laugh and dance with her boy in the kitchen.

This precious young woman has been through a lot, so has her dad, so has her boy. But she is still strong. She is giving. She works hard. She loves her life. She still smiles.

Even now, as she lies sleeping next to me in bed, she smiles- and that is a happy story.