Dear Gavin,
It’s hard to know where to start so I’m going to go all the way back. My earliest memories of my mom include some type of competitive sport; usually racquetball or softball. She played both quite well. Every Saturday morning in the winter she would get me and Uncle Vaughn up and take us over to Racquet’s West for her game. She always let us take a friend so we wouldn’t get bored. Sometimes she’d check us into the kid’s area but most of the time we’d be free to run around the facility for an hour or so. I know… I’d never let you run around a gym with your friends at age 7 but it was the 70’s and parenting was just a bit different back then. She didn’t worry about weirdos getting us, especially with the way your Uncle Vaughn would act. 
I mean, what person would want to mess with four (we EACH got to bring a friend) crazy, hyper, sugar-charged kids that were running around with racquets in one hand and a box of Milk Duds from the vending machine in the other? Occasionally we would get in trouble, like the time Aunt Stacie and I put shampoo into the whirlpool and the bubbles took over the locker room (oops). But most of the time we’d sneak into a court and practice our racquetball skills until some adult would show up for their game and kick us off.
On Friday evenings in the summer she played softball for the church women’s league; Bethel CRC. My Mom played third base because she had quite an arm! All the games were at the Christian Reformed Recreation Center. This was a huge park that had a gravel parking lot that stretched on for miles and hundreds of softball fields and a play area that had a rocket ship and a wooden boat and the world’s tallest tube slide made out of old oil drums that were welded together and painted red and yellow. The slide looked cool but it always terrified me. You never knew if your ride down it was going to be smooth or if you were going to catch a rough spot on the inside and end up with a nasty rug burn on your skin. Plus the bigger kids hung out by the slide and rumor had it, kissed in the slide. EW – gross!
In 1980 mom’s team won the league. I remember this so clearly because the team named me the official bat girl. I would sit on the bench and then run up to pull the used bats out of the way before the next hitter approached the plate. It was an honor and I took this job very seriously. The pitcher was a woman named “Ma” and she had a wicked slow pitch. One of her daughters played catcher and another was short stop. They were complete jocks. Funny thing now that I think about it… I don’t recall ever actually seeing them at church. I wonder if they were church league ringers? There was a woman in center field named Bess. She didn’t move all that quickly but she could hit the ball a ton. I also remember Arlene, a quiet, extremely thin woman who couldn’t hit, throw or catch a ball. They put her in right field and prayed whenever the ball went in her direction. I remember seeing her at church every Sunday.
My first memory of cancer occurred when I was around 8 or 9 years old. Vaughn and I were brought to the kitchen table for a family talk and Dad informed us that we were going to get a new in-ground swimming pool because Mom had to have some surgery and the doctors thought it would be good exercise for her to swim. I don’t think they ever even said the words “breast cancer”. At that age you would think that I would’ve been able to handle at least some of the truth but then again this was your Grandpa that got to deliver the message. He’s not known for his way with words or ability to handle any type of conversation in a normal and sensitive way. So I thought “cool… we’re getting a new pool”.
I don’t even know for sure if she had chemotherapy for her first bout. I’m assuming she did because it was the late 70’s and they probably treated all cancer with a good ole dose of poison. My memories include spending a lot of time at Aunt Steph’s house. I’m sure this was really hard on my Aunt Lou who had to keep a stiff upper lip and act as though nothing major was going on. She pulled it off though. I don’t think I ever grasped the gravity of the situation. Steph and I played hard and giggled well past our bedtimes, playing games like “truth or dare”. The one time I was brave and chose dare she made me run through the house with my nightgown pulled up yelling “I let a puff puff”. Yes. She’s a little strange. We thought it was hysterical at the time. I guess I understand now why Aunt Lou didn’t laugh with us so much.
I think my mom had a single mastectomy but I really don’t know. I know I shared everything with you and you were only 4.5 years old but you really seemed to get it. What was the better approach? I wish someone would have told me what was going on for real or at least written stuff down. The only reason I think she had a single mastectomy is because Steph said she saw down the front of her bathing suit following the surgery and could tell one boob was missing. I don’t even know if she had reconstruction… I’m sure she did eventually.
Why can’t I remember these important details yet I can recall the names of the women on her softball team? I can even recall that Bess always wore the same green “BEKINS” shirt. This drives me nuts. Are kids really that self absorbed or was it just me? Or were the memories so painful that some part of my psyche has blocked them for me so that I could have a half way normal childhood? I see pictures from back then and there she is… in the hospital in her blue robe holding a double boob cake and smiling at the camera. I can tell she took the time to do her hair and even put on some red lipstick before the photo was taken. Did she feel beautiful and wanted and loved or was she devastated and just putting on a strong front for that photo? Next to the photo in the scrap book was a folded piece of paper with a rough drawing of two stick people in hospital beds with the words “Roses are Red. Violets are Blue.” on the front. You open it up and it says “You’re a little crazy but I still love you. Love, Jenny”.
She came home from the hospital without a breast and probably more than that… but I don’t get to know what she gave up or how she felt. I can’t stand that. I can’t get over the fact that I am covering the same ground that she did all those years ago and I don’t have a clue how she got through it. Was she able to look at me and Vaughn without feeling like her heart was going to tear into pieces just over the thought that she might not be around to see us grow up? That’s how I feel sometimes when I look at you and then I quickly look away and blink away any tears so that you don’t see me crying. Did she do that too?
Life returned to normal after that. Mom came home from the hospital and we started working on the new pool. We stayed at home, went to school, had sleepovers with friends and did normal family things (at least for a little while anyway). My dad thought it would be a good idea to put rocks around the pool as landscaping but either didn’t have the money or was too cheap to have somone actually put the rocks down. He had the truck dump them in our driveway and then called in every friend and relative crazy enough to help and made us load rocks, one-by-one, into wheel barrows, cart them into the backyard and then unload them around the pool area. At one point I slipped on a rock and fell down and skinned my knee. It wasn’t bad but clearly I was looking for a little attention and ran crying to my mom. She looked up from the rock pile briefly, said “no timeouts for injury” and went back to her work. Years later I found myself analyzing this incident (in addition to plenty of other incidents) in front of a professional counselor because it really stuck with me. I had a brief feeling that my mom didn’t care and it rocked my world (no pun intended).
What if I accidentally made a comment like that to you without thinking it through? If I ever have done that I aplogize right now! Never think for even one moment that you’re not the world to me! Do any of us really comprehend the power of our words or the lasting impression they can make if we’re not around long enough to further explain them or reinforce our real feelings through more consistent and positive behaviors?
I went back to the Rec Center as an adult. The parking lot is actually just a few rows wide and there’s probably six fields. The rocket ship didn’t reach the sky and the old slide was long gone. I guess someone finally figured out that nothing good could come from kids sliding through a rusty old oil barrel. Isn’t it funny how big things appeared when you were a kid? Racquet’s West was shut down long ago and coverted into office space. I can’t drive by either place without some memory of my childhood coming up and I wonder if someday the beaches of West Michigan will have the same effect on you. What words have I said, what places have we visited and what things have I done that if I were gone tomorrow would stick with you when you were 40 years old? I hope that list is full of happy, loving memories and great times.
I love you to the moon and back,
Mommy
