When I was eight years old my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Now being as young as I was, my mom didn't tell me what was wrong or try to explain what cancer was. She just told me and my 4 year old sister that she was sick and it would be different from any other sickness she had dealt with. Even from my perspective it was.
My mom was always tired. She would come home from a day at work and go straight to bed. She was weaker than I remember and my sister and I got away with more and more. Our neat family room turned into an island of toys without my mother's organized eye. My mom's curly blonde hair fell to the floor in front of my eyes one day as my dad shaved it off. She always said she didn't want us to be surprised to find her without hair one day. Wigs took the place of her once white blonde hair. She went down to part time jobs for flexibility with her many doctor's appointments. This wasn't the mom I had grown up with, but as the months went on it seemed to be the mom I would get.
Luckily my mom survived the cancer coming back from a Stage 3 tumor in her left breast to a cancer free life. But as her cancer status changed, so did the family roles in our house.
I as the oldest daughter learned to handle more and more responsibility. From doing chores to getting 7-up for my mom, I took over a few of my mom's past jobs. My dad took over most of them and not only did he do the majority of the chores but he also worked a full time job. Life didn't change much for my sister as she was still too young to understand the little that I did. Our house became revolved around my mom and making sure that he was alright.
Some moms take out the garbage, or pack a trailer, or carry heavy items. For awhile mine couldn't and so I had to learn to keep our house running. I didn't do it because it was polite but because I was taught to in order to help our family.
At age eight I saw what my mom was going through, and up until that point I had tried to be like her. She was a great mom and I loved her, but something inside me changed when my mom got sick.
Personally I think my little brain connected my mom's personality to her getting cancer. If she was different maybe that wouldn't have happened... As I know now personality doesn't affect things like that, but at that age I didn't.
Every day my mom was in pain. Either from the surgeries or the chemotherapy, pain was common around our house. I didn't want to experience that. I didn't want to be in pain like her, and so I decided that in order to prevent that I would have to not be like her.
Yes. At age eight I attempted to rebuild my personality. I latched onto my dad and learned to be like him. I talked like him, ate like him, and acted like him. Nowadays people say that I look like my mother and act like my dad; they think it's funny, and I think it was a defense mechanism.
My mom and dad are similar but different. I do act a lot like my dad but there are moments when parts of my mom can be seen in me. This is why I think I act the way I do. It all started because I didn't want to get cancer.
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