{ Motherless Daughters } uniting those experiencing motherloss

Our Stories

Judy's Story

My story begins with the diagnosis of breast cancer in my Mother at the age of 40. I was 20. This was a time where the treatments of today’s medicine were not available then (1980). She underwent a modified radical mastectomy of the left breast. The doctors felt they got it all but upon examination of the lymph nodes, it was discovered that they contained “traces” of the cancer in 1 too many nodes.

It was recommended that she receive chemotherapy as a precautionary measure. She was also tested to determine if the disease had spread to other organs, as they could not be sure. Throughout this time I was always so amazed at my Mother’s courage. If she felt afraid, she never showed it. Until the day she died, I wondered if she simply hid her fears to protect the family and me or was understandably too afraid to speak of it. In any case, she never complained.

She made the decision to live a better life with diet, exercise and prayer. I believe she was afraid of the whole chemotherapy thing. In 1980 it was a scary prospect. I felt I had to honor her wishes, as it was her decision and no one else’s.

All was well for a time and she did as she said she would. She adopted the macrobiotic method of diet and lifestyle. Began a vitamin regimen and stayed active. She never smoked or consumed alcohol a day in her life.

At the age of 45, she started having some mild back pain and began to see a chiropractor. He seemed unable to relieve this pain and recommended she see her regular doctor. After several weeks of testing, she was diagnosed with advanced bone cancer. The cancer had indeed spread.

Initially, she kept the truth from our family, as I was unable to accompany her to most of the doctor’s appointments due to my work schedule. I had asked her repeatedly about her illness and she “side-stepped” me every time. One day, out of frustration, I contacted her doctor and all but demanded to know the truth of her condition.

Imagine my shock when he explained that her condition was advanced and he did not expect her to last a year. He went on to tell me that the only reason he divulged this information to me was in the hope that I might persuade my Mother to try the chemo this time. He felt that if she did, it might prolong her life for another 2 years. Whoopee! That was a joke even to me.

So, here I was at the age of 25 faced with the realization that my best friend and confidant would never see me get married or have children of my own. She would never see the achievements of her children or know the proud feelings a parent has when they watch their child mature and prosper, knowing they had a hand in that.

My Mother and Father divorced before I reached the age of 1, so my Mother was all I ever had. She raised my brother and myself from the age of 18 with help from her parents. My Mother never remarried and honestly never had a personal relationship of her own until she was 44 years of age. She gave her children the rest. Such is the legacy of my Mother.

When she finally passed away at 47 after a cruel and painful 2-year struggle, I was devastated. At first I was strong and silent throughout the arrangements and service. But something clicked in me about 6 months after. You see, I had already acknowledged in my own mind that I could not allow myself to think and feel about her. I was terrified that my own life would be crushed, so I chose to build a protective barrier around my heart.

I would carry this around with me for the next 11 years. I proceeded to make poor choices in my life and even toyed with the idea of suicide many times. I felt so empty and cold. Typing these words now evokes such a deep and desperate pain inside that it scares me, and I cry as I relive these horrible times.

My Mother was my best friend and we talked about everything. To the day she died, she was still a Mother to me. When I was having a bad day, no matter how she was feeling, she would still listen to me ramble away on the telephone and then offer those words of encouragement that only a Mother can. For some time in my own life, I searched for a way to live with my grief. I was bitter that I could not even remember her without a flood of grief coming over me. I could not speak fondly to others about her without choking up and bursting into tears, so I talked to no one and suffered in silence.

As time passed, I longed to be able to feel again. I wanted this for me as well as her. She had taught me through her illness, that life is so precious and that it really is a gift. Every decision we make in life should have purpose and be made with consideration. These lessons and the thought that she would have been so sad knowing I had allowed my life to literally dissolve, provided me a mission.

That mission was to pursue a happy and fulfilled life. After all, this was her goal as a Mother. These were the lessons she sought to impart to her children through her own examples. So in 1998 at the age of 37, I set out to make those changes to my life. I ended an abusive personal relationship and moved into my own apartment.

Shortly afterwards I met the man I was to marry and 7 years later we are happy and blessed in our lives. In many ways, I have so much more than my Mother ever did. She sacrificed all for her children.

If I could become just half the person she was, I will have accomplished much in this life. Kind, giving and full of youth. That was my Mother.

I would be lying if I said that time heals the heart. That’s not the way it has been for me. The pain of her passing is still very fresh, even after 15 years, and I have resolved myself to the fact that this may never change. Not a day goes by that I do not miss her and want her back with me. When things become rocky in my life, I ache to speak to her and to have her reassure and comfort me.

But my promise to her as a loyal and loving daughter is to seek out the happiness in this life that she wanted for me. This is what keeps me going in times of sorrow and now allows me to smile (most of the time) whenever she comes to mind.

© Judy Wallace

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