Learning to be happy
Oct 01
Hey everybody, it’s Maren. It’s been a while since you’ve heard about me, and there’s a lot of things you’ve never heard from my perspective. For those wondering how I am doing or what I am up to these days, I am a senior in high school, planning to go to college next year to major in nursing. I am a barista at a local coffee shop, and my extra time goes towards school extracurriculars and hanging out with my favorite people.
So far, I would call the theme for the academic part of my senior year “therapeutic, deep, emotional essay writing about my tragic past”. I’m deep in the college application process (which warrants an essay), and taking courses through local colleges (also requiring a ridiculous amount of writing). As I have been writing, I have felt that many of you would appreciate my essays. Some topics I have covered have been previously shared on this blog by my mom from her perspective. Sharing my writing is a little nerve-wracking, but this essay is the cancer story from my perspective, and how it didn’t end when she passed away nearly 5 years ago.
Learning to be happy
My sixteenth birthday gift was a little unconventional. The tattoo on my arm is a reminder of my mom, it honors her, and it is a way for me to carry her memory with me. People frequently stop to compliment me on my pretty tattoo. They stop me and look at my arm with a smile on their face, and I watch that smile drop into a look of pity when I tell them what it is for. I quickly follow up with a statement along the lines of “it’s okay, I think it’s really pretty too” or “I don’t have the tattoo because it makes me sad, I have it because it makes me happy”. I never wanted a mark on my arm to be the closest thing I had to a hug from her, but unfortunately that is my reality. She was my best friend, so glancing at my arm makes everything feel a little better.
I cheered the first time I heard the word cancer. All I heard was that my mom got something new, and I was too young to understand there are bad things in the world. Disease, pain, suffering, anxiety, depression, and death weren’t even a part of my vocabulary, but were concepts that I would be familiar with all too soon. Over time I understood more and more the reality of what that word “cancer” means. Starting this process of anxiety and anticipation and grief at the age of four meant that I had a long slow process of realization. In some ways, I appreciate that. Having time to process and understand what was happening allowed me to better prepare myself for the inevitable outcome. In some ways, however, I hate how this happened, because I was forced to begin grieving 7 years before she even died. Grief is hard to pin down. It will sneak up on you, it will ambush you, it will confuse you, but it never truly leaves you alone. Learning to live a truly joyful life with the continuous presence of grief is my biggest achievement to date, and has transformed my life .
Many local high school volleyball programs have a “Volley for the Cure” fundraising night, where proceeds go towards breast cancer research and cancer survivors are honored during a ceremony. As a kid, my family and I would attend and be a part of the Lakota West Volley for the Cure night. My mom would walk across the court, holding both mine and my sister’s hands to receive her bouquet of flowers before we would all go and look at raffle baskets, play games, and eat food. These nights were so fun for me. I got to play with my friends in addition to looking super cool and important while walking across the court during the ceremony. I remember the year when the night ended sour. All at once it felt as though a wave of reality had hit me and I couldn’t get up for air. I realized that this wasn’t a night all for fun, I was there because my mom was going to die. I cried the whole way home and throughout the night while my mom laid in my little bottom bunk bed with me. That was the first time that I realized that this thing “cancer” was permanent.
That year I was a third grader. I was a little redheaded kid with gaps in my teeth and weighed down by my new realization that my mom was dying. I was extremely blessed with my class placement that school year. My teacher Mrs. Long was truly a lifesaver for me. Mrs. Long’s mom died when she was eight, the age I was when she had me in class. At that time, I was old enough to feel all of my emotions and have complicated feelings. Eight year olds however, aren’t known to be the best at using rational thought or to have a deep understanding of complex topics, such as the impending death of my mother that I was facing. Having someone who could understand the pain and panic I was going through with my limited understanding was invaluable. She is the most compassionate, patient person I know. At the time, I expected my mom’s death to be sudden and without warning, much like a heart attack, and this misunderstanding of the disease left me in a constant state of panic and anxiety. I had panic attacks at school, sure that at some point I would be called to the office to be told the dreaded news. Oftentimes I was unable to focus on my given tasks. I would be working on an assignment and then remember that my mom was dying. Once that hit me, everything else went out the window. Nothing else mattered to me when my pressing concern was that at any second, my mom would die and I wouldn’t get to say goodbye. Mrs. Long arranged with the rest of the building staff to allow me to run away and escape to her room if I ever had one of those moments of panic. I recall walking into her room while she was in the middle of a lesson, but she stopped, hugged me, and let me sit at her desk until she was able to come give me attention and talk. At the end of the year, I received two gifts from Mrs. Long. The first was a blanket that she had made for me. The second was her promise to keep in touch with me, and that she would be there for me if I ever needed someone to talk to. She helped me feel important, loved, supported, and she always managed to understand my exact needs in a moment of panic.
The following years consisted of trips to the hospital, long emotional conversations, vacations, and normal daily activities. That was until Sunday morning November 10th, 2019. My dad had spent the night at the hospital, Greta and I had stayed at a friend’s house. I remember everything perfectly. I sat at the end of our red couch in the living room. My dad and Greta sat on the floor next to me. When he told us, he had tears in his eyes. I had never seen him cry. I already knew what he was going to say, but Greta didn’t. When he said it, she crawled into my lap and I held her as she cried for hours. That whole week was a blur. My dad was busy planning a celebration of life, and to be honest, I don’t remember what I did. I was so numb and empty during that time that I don’t think I did much of anything. Just 6 days after she passed, we had a celebration of life for her in which hundreds of people attended. People had flown in from across the country on short notice to be there to support us and celebrate my mom. Friends, family, my volleyball team, coaches, teachers, principals, and everyone else in my life showed up to be there for me. I was showered with sympathy cards and offers to go out for ice cream to chat. I hated it all. I was broken. I was mad. I was empty. I didn’t want any sympathy cards, I only wanted my mom, and nothing could make that better.
Eventually I went back to school, not very successfully. Previously a perfect A-student, I started to struggle in my classes. I remember my first math test after I came back. I received 31%. That math class was my first-ever high school credit class. I cried and felt that the world was ending. First my mom died, and with her went any hope I had for my future. I made a promise with myself that I would do my best to not smile, to not laugh, and overall to not be happy. I missed her, and I didn’t want to be okay without her. I didn’t want for her death to seemingly mean nothing to me or to appear unbothered by my loss to others. I didn’t fail math that year. I actually endedup with an A. I completely owe that to my teacher, Mr. Kornau. After every test I failed, I would come in after school, and he would sit with me and go through every question until I understood them all. Then he would give me a homework assignment similar to the test and would take my new grade. He didn’t need to do that. Giving extra help and making exceptions for depressed kids wasn’t his job, but having that kind of practical support was so helpful. I wasn’t able to do basic daily tasks like I was before. I never cleaned my room, I started sitting in the shower because I didn’t have any energy left to stand, I wasn’t eating, and I withdrew myself from my friends because the expectation to be social was too much for me to handle. So, having a couple people like Mr. Kornau who saw through me and gave me genuine practical support and solutions to my pain was beyond helpful. For a long time, I wasn’t surviving on my own. I will forever appreciate those people for helping me to get through that dark period.
I am 17 years old. I’ve been on this road fighting for my sanity for 13 years now. If I were to meet a little girl in the same place that I once was, I would tell her three things. The first is that having a quality support system around you is invaluable. I would never be where I am today without my friends, family, and teachers who have loved and supported me. The second thing I have learned is that it is natural and okay to be sad, but you should never hold yourself back from being happy. I spent so much time not accepting the support I was given and trying to distance myself. The only thing that came out of that was me being miserable, and I regret the time I spent unhappy. Lastly, being happy is not insulting to our loved ones who have passed. I miss my mom, and I always will, but I am allowed to be happy and live my life in her honor. Being happy is what she would want for me.
I am currently a little over three years strong with my therapist. I’ve grown a lot. After a long journey, my mental health has recovered. I know this isn’t the end of my story, but now I know that decided misery was never going to make her proud of me. Me being happy and living a joyful life is the best thing I can do to honor her memory. I got my tattoo as a reminder of her. I’m done remembering her by forgetting everything else. I remember her by my tattoo and by all the good memories I have with her. I smile when I think about her, but I also smile when I see my favorite people. I smile when I hear my favorite songs. I smile a lot now. I am happy.
Stunning. Every single word. You are a beautiful writer and your words drip with wisdom. Thank you for the raw and real way in which you write. I see so much of your precious mama in you. I’m so sorry for the circumstances that led you on this over a decade journey…and I am thankful for what you are teaching us through it. Keep writing. You are brilliant and it’s a gift to read your words.
Thank you Maren for writing this. I’m sure your Mom is so proud.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
Maren,
Thank you for sharing . I’m proud of you for getting help. God bless you and your family.
Maren, you do not know me. We met you, Greta and your parents at Cancer Support Community years ago. My youngest son is a year older than you. He was with me when we met. His father passed away this year. It has been a tough year. I hope it is alright to share this with him and even our older sons. It is beautiful. I know your beautiful mother is so proud of you!
Thank you for sharing your thoughts!🩷
Nancy
Maren ~ You’re wise beyond your years and you are definitely your mother‘s daughter❣️ Your mother is so proud of you, because you are definitely doing “Do today well” 🥰 Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather openings in heaven, where the love of our lost ones pours through and Shining down upon us to let us know that they are happy❣️ What an inspiration you are to many❣️ Be happy sweet one, be happy 🤗
You have shared your heart, mind and soul with us. I feel so honored to have read the remarkable account of your thoughts and very personal feelings during your recovery from your Moms diagnosis and loss. Kudos to your “village” and to you…..
You are doing well today!
Oh wow Maren. I am so incredibly blessed to read this and see the world through your eyes. Your mom would be SO PROUD of you and how you are choosing to live life and learn to be happy. So well written. Thank you for your bravery in sharing it with all of us.
I always love “Do Today Well” email notifications. ❤️Beautiful Maren…so many of us who you probably don’t know have been praying for you all from the beginning and still do, as your parents are loved by so many. Thank you so much for sharing a bit of your perspective. You are a talented writer and I can’t even believe you are a senior. Much love to you.
Maren, thank you for sharing your heart. Your skill with writing and communicating is much like your mom’s. I found myself leaning in to soak up every word. I’m proud of you for working so hard through all of your feelings, thoughts and getting to such a strong place. It is beautiful how sharing your journey will bless and benefit others around you. I know your mom is proud too. A future in nursing sounds fitting, and I am thrilled at the thought of all the lives you will touch with your wisdom, insight, kindness, compassion, love and support. Would you share a picture of your tattoo for your mom? I’d love to see what you carry as a reminder of her… It’s yours and you can share whatever explanation you want for it when people ask about it. The grief and love you carry so strongly is tough for some to understand…unless they carry it too. You are doing life well.
Reading with tears. You are a beautiful writer and I am so glad to see your words and heart here.
I met your mom at a writing retreat on Orcas Island. I picked her up at the airport and we car pooled to the weekend. We bonded immediately over our girls of the same age. My daughter’s name is Charis, a name you share, spelled differently. It was the first time I’d heard the name since my daughter’s birth. It’s a very special name. 💞
I can’t tell you how many time I have thought of your mom and you over the past many years. Your mom had this way of curling right up into the hearts of people; she left an indelible mark on my heart and soul. I never met anyone of her family, but always felt so strangely close. Maybe because our girls share a name. Maybe because we have deep sadness in common. God knows.
I am so sorry you lost your Mama. She was such a bright light, but in you her light carries on. I am so sorry for your loss and your grief, but so glad to know you’ve found a way to happiness. 💞 So glad you are writing. I hope to read more.
Oh Maren. You obviously have your mother’s gift for writing. That was beautiful. I wish you all the very best for your years at college and I am looking forward to reading more of your writings in the future.
Margaret McDonald
Wow, Maren. What a powerful essay. It brought me to tears and brought back memories of your time in my class. I am so proud of you and I’m happy that you have found happiness again.
Best wishes in your college search. It’s hard to believe you are a senior! My daughter is graduating from UC with her nursing degree this year. It takes a special person to be a good nurse and you will be an outstanding one full of compassion.
Mrs. Carpenter
Maren, I am a friend of Grandma Roz, and I thank you so much for sharing this with all of us. It fills my heart that you have found your joy, and I hope you are proud of your hard work to learn to thrive. Bravo and happy early graduation!😊
Maren it was therapeutic for me to read your post and I hope you have experienced a certain amount of healing writing it. Your mum has certainly passed the writing baton onto you . Jen was an inspiration to all of us. She always managed to Do Today Well even when she was at her lowest . She remained strong for all of us , especially for her little girls. It would have broken her heart to see how much you were hurting and she did everything she could to protect you. You will make the most amazing , caring health care worker. I remember how your mum made it her personal goal to talk to new cancer sufferers in the chemo room when they had fear in their eyes , even when she was on her own treatment journey. She had a calming nature , one of which I hope she has passed to you. Thank you for your raw honesty Maren and we look forward to your next post x Allanah
Beautifully written Maren. I was one of the nurses who had the honor of caring for your mom at the infusion office. She was a beautiful person. I remember when I first met her. I was convinced that she was not real. How could a person be so positive after being dealt such a crummy hand? But she was very real and one of the most kind people I have ever met. I’m glad you updated the blog. I have often wondered how you and Greta were doing. Keep her memory alive by living your life like she lived hers. She would want that.
Thank you Maren. That was beautiful.
Thank you for your beautiful words. I lost my 16 year old daughter to cancer. She was a volleyball player and was able to talk to your mom about their shared experiences . Coincidentally, Mr Kornau was my daughter’s math teacher too. He kindly worked with her when she missed class during her treatment. He and his wife are gems. I’m so glad you met them and were able to feel their genuine kindness.
I remember you and your sister as cute little girls who were adored by your mother. Best of luck to you as you finish your high school career. I look forward to hearing about your future adventures.
Proud with you for leaning in and living again. I’m happy you’re happy.
Such a beautiful written expression of your heart. Thank you for sharing your story. So many of us have followed your mom’s blog, occasionally updated by your dad, one of your Aunts, or your Grandma Roz. However reading your story brings a different side into focus and is centered around YOUR reality. Thank you for sharing. Keep doing everyday well!
Maren,
I am so sorry that you have had to go through all of this. You have processed this in a way that some adults in your situation haven’t done, and convey your thoughts so well in written form. Thank you so much for sharing. I think of you and Greta often ❤️
Wow Maren. What a gorgeous mature young woman you have grown into. Jen would be so proud, and your happiness is exactly what she would want. I cannot imagine what you have been through … heck! I still have Mum: she’s 90 now! And to imagine nursing is your future profession! Grandma Ros must be bursting with pride (me too by the way as it was my profession also, even if I cannot claim influence from Australia!)
‘Keep your face toward the sunshine, let the shadows fall behind you’. Lots of love, Great Aunt Jane xx
Dear Maren, what a lovely mature young woman you have grown into. Jen would be so proud, and happiness was all she ever wanted for you. I cannot imagine what you have been through – heck! I still have my mother & she is 90! That you have chosen nursing as your career – Grandma Ros must be bursting! (And me too by the way, as that was my profession too, although I cannot claim influence from Australia!) Stay as sweet as you are; keep your face toward the sunshine, let the shadows fall behind you. I so enjoyed reading your words. Love from Great Aunt Jane xx
Hi Maren, you don’t know me – I used to babysit your mom and aunts! Your writing is beautiful and so emotive. I am so proud of how far you’ve come – that is a lot for a kid. I love your advice! You sharing this experience is a gift to those who get to read it. So similar to your mom sharing her experiences here – a gift to others. Thank you beautiful girl. I hope you continue to keep us updated. Hugs!
Thank you for sharing Maren. Through a long and tough journey you have arrived at truth and who could ask for more. Your mother wants you to live your life with joy deep in your heart period.❤️
Thanks for being courageous enough to share your beautiful words. I am so glad you are being healed. Praying today for your sweet family.
Yay Maren! I am rooting for you and your college decisions from Wisconsin. You can do hard things and have fun! Morgan is head to University of Idaho in Moscow, ID next year if you want to go really far and have a contact 😉
I am at a loss for words, but wanted you to know just how deeply your words touched me. Your mom is most definitely beaming with pride at the wonderful young lady you have become. You have endured struggles that no child should have to deal with, you have wisdom beyond your years, and someday you may be the “Mrs. Long“ for someone. Most of all, I am happy that you are happy.
Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing. I was always moved by your mom’s writing and now I am so moved by yours.