Lessons from the Front Lines: What My Mom's Twenty-Two Year Cancer Journey Taught Me About Living and Supporting Others

My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was very young, and over the next twenty-two years, she faced a multitude of recurrences and metastases. She endured surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, drugs, and even experimental treatments with a grace that still amazes me. Before she passed, I made a promise to her that I would work to try to make the world a better place. Out of this commitment, and to honor her memory, I created the World Change Coalition to help other cancer patients, their families, caregivers, and friends during the challenging times they face.

Growing up watching my mom's journey, I thought courage looked like the heroes in movies—fearless warriors charging into battle without a second thought. I was wrong. Real courage looks like my mom getting up every morning for over two decades, facing metastatic breast cancer with kindness and an unwavering commitment to living fully despite the uncertainty hanging over our family.

When I read Jonathan Gluck's story about celebrating his 60th birthday quietly with family after surviving multiple myeloma for two decades, it resonated deeply. Like Gluck, my mom understood something profound about what truly matters when time becomes precious. Her journey taught me lessons I'm still learning to apply—about resilience, presence, and the transformative power of choosing to hope when everything feels uncertain.

The Teacher I Never Expected

Cancer doesn't discriminate, arriving uninvited and disrupting carefully laid plans. A cancer diagnosis can turn a person's world upside down in an instant. The initial fear of future uncertainty is quickly complicated by batteries of tests to evaluate and understand the cancer, followed by treatment decisions that patients and their families must navigate while emotionally overwhelmed.

But watching my mom navigate this journey showed me that our greatest teachers sometimes come wrapped in our most difficult experiences. Through more surgeries than I remember, countless chemotherapy sessions, radiation treatments, experimental drugs, and sleepless nights filled with pain, she never gave up on herself or our family.

What struck me most wasn't just her physical endurance, it was her perspective. She lived "with appreciation of the present and hope for the future," finding joy in ordinary moments that others might overlook. A quiet morning with coffee, a phone call from a friend, the simple pleasure of watching her children grow up—these became sacred moments rather than routine occurrences.

I recall the simple joy of having breakfast on the patio.  My dad made her favorite breakfast, pancakes with fresh strawberries, butter and Vermont maple syrup.  Of course, her ubiquitous morning Café Mocha Latte.  Pure enjoyment sitting together and enjoying fun conversation on a beautiful morning.

Her approach echoed Gluck's transformation from someone who "mostly ignored" symptoms to becoming a "devout pre-crastinator" with the things that mattered. Watching her, I learned that when facing one’s mortality, the question isn't "Why is this happening?" but rather "How can I make the most of the time I have?"

The Marathon, Not the Sprint

The journey through cancer treatment isn't a sprint; it's a marathon. One of the most important lessons I learned watching my mom's experience is that support is often abundant in the beginning but is not always sustained throughout their entire treatment journey. This is particularly true towards the end of treatment, when patients might be experiencing cumulative mental and physical fatigue, but others might assume they're "almost done" and need less help.

I witnessed firsthand how the initial flood of phone calls and well-wishes, though well-intentioned, could be exhausting when my mom was still processing her diagnosis and beginning treatment. This taught me an important aspect of support: it's not just about being there, but about being there in the right way.

The Power of Simple Gestures

The most effective support often comes in simple, thoughtful gestures that I watched lift my mom's spirits without demanding energy from her. A quiet text message saying "I'm thinking of you" or a handwritten card in the mail created bridges to the outside world when she might have been feeling isolated during treatment. What made these gestures particularly meaningful was when they came with no expectation of response, allowing her to focus on healing without feeling obligated to maintain social connections.

Some approaches that made the biggest difference:

• Brief texts: "Thinking of you today. No need to respond."

• Cards with encouraging messages in the mail

• Sharing positive memories or funny stories

• Listening without trying to fix or minimize her experience

• Respecting when she needed space or quiet time

Taking Initiative with Practical Support

I learned that practical support can be just as meaningful as emotional encouragement. Rather than asking "What can I do to help?" which puts the burden of coordination on the patient, true helpers took initiative. Friends who dropped off meals at specific times, offered to help with household tasks, or volunteered to accompany my mom to appointments provided concrete ways to ease the daily challenges that cancer brings to every aspect of life.

Practical support that made a real difference:

• Organizing meal delivery schedules

• Helping with childcare or school activities

• Offering rides to appointments

• Handling household tasks like laundry or cleaning

• Running errands for groceries or prescriptions

• Managing shared calendars for appointments and help

Finding the Right Words (and Avoiding the Wrong Ones)

Through my mom's journey, I observed how maintaining positivity while acknowledging reality could help patients find glimmers of hope and meaning. Instead of responding with pity or focusing on negative aspects, supportive friends and family helped my mom find positive elements even in difficult circumstances.

I learned there are phrases to avoid:

• "Everything happens for a reason"

• "Stay positive" or "Be strong"

• "I know exactly how you feel"

• "At least it's a good kind of cancer"

And simple, powerful alternatives:

• "I'm here for you"

• "This must be really hard"

• "Would you like to talk about it?"

• "I love you"

• "Can I sit with you for a while?"

The Science Behind What Was Witnessed

Looking back, I now understand the scientific foundation behind what I observed. The impact of my mom's strong support system extended beyond emotional comfort research shows that cancer patients with strong social support networks often experience better quality of life during treatment and may even have improved survival rates. This underscores that cancer treatment isn't just about medical interventions; it's about treating the whole person, including their emotional and social needs.

Studies reveal that depression increases cancer mortality by 30%, while emotional support and stress reduction strengthen immune function and improve treatment outcomes. Around 43% of cancer patients experience clinical depression, with anxiety affecting over half of those in active treatment. The connection between emotional and physical health that I witnessed in my mom's journey is now validated by extensive research.

Supporting the Supporters

One crucial lesson from our family's experience is that caregivers and family members need support too. The emotional and physical toll of supporting someone through cancer affects everyone in the circle of care. I learned the importance of:

• Offering respite care to primary caregivers

• Checking in specifically about caregivers' needs

• Providing meals and practical assistance to the whole family

• Listening to caregivers' concerns and feelings

• Helping them maintain their own health and well-being

Late-Stage Treatment Realities

As my mom's treatment extended off and on over years, I learned that late-stage support requires special attention:

• Continuing support even as others may drift away

• Acknowledging cumulative fatigue that builds over time

• Celebrating small victories along the way

• Maintaining regular contact and assistance when others assume the journey is "almost over"

The Legacy of Love in Action

My mom's incredible kindness and unbounded love created ripples that continue long after her physical presence ended. Her fingerprint is our World Change Coalition's logo which represents how love transcends mortality and how one caring person can touch countless lives they'll never meet.

Her journey reshaped our family's understanding of what matters. Our commitment to supporting cancer patients through wig donations and other initiatives isn't just charitable giving, it is love in action, empathy translated into tangible help, and a way to honor the promise I made to her.

The Gift That Keeps Giving

Perhaps the most profound lesson from my mom's journey is that presence and practical help matter more than finding perfect words to say. Sometimes, a simple "I love you, and I'm here for you" is more powerful than any elaborate expression of sympathy. The key is maintaining consistent support while respecting the patient's energy levels and need for space.

Cancer taught my mom, and through her, our entire family, how to truly live. Her courage in facing uncertainty, her commitment to finding joy despite pain, and her unwavering love for others created a legacy that continues to inspire everyone who knew her.

Thank you, mom, for being who you were and showing us that sometimes our greatest teachers come disguised as our most difficult experiences. Your strength lives on in every life you touched, every moment of kindness you inspired, and every person who learned from your example what it means to face adversity with grace.

I want to again acknowledge Donna Loeffler, a very kind and giving person and cancer survivor herself, who has shared personal insights and experiences that has helped me as I evolve the World Change Coalition. Thank you, Donna, for your candid insight and always positive and inspiring support.

As always, thank you to the followers and supporters of the World Change Coalition. This journey is also a marathon and not a sprint.

Through small acts of kindness, practical assistance, and steady presence, we can help create foundations of support that enable patients to focus on what matters most—their healing and recovery.

I love you and miss you every day, mom. The promise I made to you continues to guide everything I do.