Mom’s Diary
A Story of Loss, Reflection, and Hope
From the Author:
Writing Mom's Diary was an unexpected, cathartic, labor of love. Not knowing what mom's journal entries would be, I like the reader, had to react in real time. It forced me to relive her battle through her eyes and to reflect on my actions. In the end, I found peace and reconnected with mom. This book changed me, and I am pleased to hear it is also impacting those who read it.
Twenty-three years after receiving his mom’s diary, the author opens its pages and begins to explore how she felt battling a terminal disease. What starts as a story about his mom and her struggles evolves into a deep exploration of the author’s guilt, sadness, and lingering impacts that her death had on his life.
Diagnosed with breast cancer at age 46, the author’s mom embarks down a path no one wants to endure. For seven years, she fought to survive. Her journal chronicles her fight, but it also examines her dependency on pain medications, the suffering she endured, and the rationale she developed for staying alive. The diary is raw, and the emotions are impactful. The author reads and responds to the diary entries for the first time while writing the book, internalizing realities that he didn’t know or hid from his consciousness.
The author’s journey gains momentum as he begins to unravel his complex feelings and shares his vulnerabilities. His awareness that he couldn’t fix this and his acceptance that he was powerless to prevent his mom’s death drive his willingness to revise his view of his actions and how he wants to live his life. The message is profound, and even though it is based on tragedy, the reader is left with hope.
Praise
“A slightly uneven but often powerful remembrance of a loved one." —Kirkus Reviews
“I recently read Mom's Diary. I found it engaging how you chose to write your thoughts as you made your way through the diary. That was courageous, not knowing where the journey would take you. As was your sharing of your vulnerabilities. Most importantly, I enjoyed your writing. It was disarming, relatable, and ultimately affirming of life itself.”
“I very much enjoyed reading Mom’s Diary.”
“I found your reflections on the power of gratitude, on how your mom was “in your corner” during the formative years, on “beating yourself up” for all of the “could/should haves”, and your search for “the why” in her “fight” to live longer particularly touching and thought provoking.”
“Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to consider things far more important than what tends to occupy time and space in the normal flow of the day. I need to take the time to venture into such reflections more frequently.”
“I just finished reading Mom’s Diary today and wanted to congratulate you on a beautiful book. I appreciated how vulnerable you were in reflecting on your mom’s life and your relationship with her. Although our stories are different, many of your reflections really resonated with me around loss and relationships and self-recrimination. Thank you for letting me and your other readers get to know this story.”
Where to Buy
Book Passage
Mom and I talked almost every day, so when I saw her number on my cell phone, I was happy to answer. Without delay, mom said, “Mike, I have breast cancer, and I need you to come home.” I was 25 years old; mom was 46.
Our family didn’t have a history of cancer. I couldn’t even think of any distant relatives who ever had it. I didn’t know how to process what I was being told, or what was happening, and I damn sure didn’t have a clue what was coming. Until you’ve been through it or witnessed someone close to you suffer from the disease and the brutal treatments, you can’t appreciate the damage that’s about to occur––damage to the patient’s body, mind, soul, and relationships. It’s complete destruction.
On that sunny, hot August afternoon, I wasn’t thinking about any of the misery that was coming, I just needed to get to mom, and fast. Without delay, I journeyed home and quickly gave mom a hug. If I’m being honest, I felt uncomfortable hugging her. I don’t know why, I just did. This was uncharted territory: Mom always had been the loving caregiver, and now it was my turn.
My unease grew. Mom told me the doctors had prepared her for the possibility that they may need to remove more than just the lump––possibly the whole breast. She said, “I’m scared.” I remained silent. What could I say? She continued: “Mike, I need you to be there when I wake up. I want you to be the one to tell me what they did. Can you do that for me?” “Of course, I can,” I mumbled, but I wasn’t sure what I’d agreed to. Obviously, I’d speak with the doctor, understand what he said, and be in the room when she awakens––but why didn’t she want dad in the room and just me?
The next morning, mom had surgery. It took a long time. I don’t remember how long, but it seemed like forever. Eventually, the doctor came out and spoke with dad and me. Dad immediately left the waiting room. He didn’t leave the hospital, but I don’t know where he went. I was steered to the hospital room to wait for mom. I sat in the dark and cried because I was scared for mom, I cried because I was afraid I’d let her down, I cried because I was pissed. I just cried.
An hour or so passed, then they wheeled mom into the room. She was asleep. A long stretch of time passed before she opened her eyes. With tears welling up, she asked, “What happened?” “They took your breast, mom.” I replied. “OK,” she said as she closed her eyes, tears trickling down her cheeks.
That was over 30 years ago, and I still don’t know how to process the experience. Why did she want me to be the one? I’ll never know. I didn’t ask her, and her diary doesn’t offer any clues.
To be sure, as a man, I can’t begin to understand what this means to a woman. I didn’t then, and I don’t today. Unable to process how this would impact her, I did the only thing I could do: I promised myself I’d do everything I could to protect her––whatever that meant.
