1. Matthew Croak
CPN-101
Jason Tucker
5/14/2013
A Silence I Can’t Ignore
The Mass slowly but surely manifested inside of my mother’s body. In silence it
started to spread. Even though cancer has taken many innocent lives before, my mother’s
life has been spared due in part by vigilant examination services provided by her
company and competent doctors. The medical approach to my mother’s ordeal has been
efficient and rather straightforward. Her breast cancer has been identified in its early
stages and is being dealt with swiftly. My mom is expected to make a full recovery,
physically. The purpose of my documentary is to delve deeper into the less overt
emotional aspect associated with cancer. I can assume that there have been and will be
more spats of fear, anxiety and ultimately acceptance on the part of my mother, my
family and myself. What I am interested in is the different emotional turbulences
experienced by different immediate family members. My hypothesis for this investigation
is that each family member will have different views or feelings surrounding the subject.
The variable emotional experiences will depend greatly on the specific familial
perspective and relation to my mother. Depending on how each family member is related
to my mother will determine what emotions are evoked and the pattern in which they are
experienced.
For example, my father’s familial perspective is different from my grandmother’s
because he is not of blood relation to my mom. My dad’s perspective will prove
invaluable in the documentary. My father has a unique relation to my mom: he is the only
one of my familial sources that is not of blood relation to my mom. His relationship with

2. my mom is one of intimacy, attraction and choice. I say choice because she was not born
into his life and neither he in hers. Rather they were born and raised separately and met in
their thirties. They were set up on a blind date by my mom’s sister and my dad’s family
friend. In the end, the chose each other as soul mates, the heart’s counterpart.
The fact that my mom, who grew up in a small town in Millis, Massachusetts, and
my dad, who was born and raised in lower class Brooklyn, New York, met each other and
fell in love is a story itself. My parents are totally different and come from very different
cultural backgrounds and environments. If they were profiles on a dating site they would
never know either one existed. That being said, despite their differences their unity has
remained strong for more than twenty years and resulted in two healthy, happy children.
Another factor in his perspective is that he was the first person my mom told when she
got the news. He was the one who experience my mom in her immediate and raw
emotional status. He was the first one to witness her initial fear and confusion. He was
the first to experience her distress firsthand. I was eager to meet with him but at the same
time I was skeptical about the answers he would give me.
My father is a storyteller. He has always wanted to write books, screenplays, a
media critic, etc. This is a very nice quality to have. He is creative, engaging. This trait is
almost admirable. My dad’s creativity is a good quality, but he does love drama.
Intensity, putting emphasis on the mundane or uninteresting. The insignificant become
pivotal. On the other hand, everything becomes fantastic. The over-embellishment can
tarnish credibility or downgrade the truth. I was not entirely sure how much of the
information would be valid. I don’t think he would lie about actual facts and medical
data, he is very meticulous in that sense. But in the areas that require his analysis or his

3. interpretation (which is the main purpose of my documentary), he may be lead astray by
his imagination. The creativity will color reality, but I was nervous it would deviate from
my project. My father is usually emotional when discussing troubling or tentative
matters. He has no shame in crying at the end of movies and love clichés and heroism. I
wasn’t looking for him to tell me that he would carry my mother’s emotional baggage on
his shoulders and be the hero. And when I interviewed him, surprisingly, he wasn’t
expressing or bragging about his actions with my mom. He was stoic, which is rather
atypical of my father. To me, this stoicism meant that he was serious, and the issue really
hit him. This wasn’t a sad ending to a movie, but real life situation that would affect the
entire family. I asked him when and how he found out about my mom’s diagnosis.
“I found out first when she was alone getting a mammogram at Goldman
[Sachs],” he said. “She told me about it later when she came home. She showed me her
breast and asked if it looked abnormal. I said yes.” My dad went on to say how she felt
scared. He hugged her and tried to reassure her that they should “take this step by step
before getting too emotional.” David Ropeik said in his New York Times article “Cancer
on the Brain,” that the “excessive fear of this dreaded disease that sometimes does more
harm than good, what some have called ‘cancer phobia.’” When he provided me with this
answer, my dad’s voice did not break, it did not crack. He sat there, ready for the next
questions. So I asked him more intense question to get the ball rolling.
‘Were you scared?’ I asked. He said yes. He was nervous, but confident it would
be resolved. I realized that my questions were too basic, just asking about facts and his
feelings toward the illness. I could have assumed he was scared, I was getting what I was

4. really after. So I asked him a deeper, more personal question, not about his view of the
illness, but about his view of mom. When I asked him ‘what was the first image he saw
when he pictured mom sick?’ he broke his reserve ever so slightly. “I saw your mother
with no right breast. I didn’t view her as sickly, but it was a strange feeling of
abnormality.” After he told me this, again, I asked what emotions were evoked when he
got the news. He was slowly lowering his walls.
“I kept asking God, why Lynda? Why does she have to be sick? She is a great
person who cares so much for everyone else. I kept thinking she doesn’t deserve this.”
My dad went on to say how he felt powerless, like he could not help her. I sat there and
let him unload the burden. All of the thoughts that he had been unable to express until
someone actually asked and probed a bit. He was not quite ready to let express himself,
but after a while, he found it hard to hold back. I asked him if his attraction to my mom
had changed at all, imagining her with one breast.
“The one thing I notice is the lack of sexual drive, which I do feel a bit guilty
about. I think that she feels this way too. We just don’t feel like having sex.” Luigi Grassi
and Michelle Riba say in chapter four of their book Clinical Psycho-Oncology, that “the
experience of a life-threatening disease like cancer is accompanied by deleterious and
often permanent repercussions on sexuality.” I asked him about acceptance. How long
did it take? What lead him to accept it? I told him it was when I first saw mom with a
short haircut with some highlighted spikes. I had never seen my mom with short hair. It
was weird, but it was what I needed to see in order to realize that this was real. I assumed
he would say the same thing, but his account was different than mine.

5. “It was when I saw the MRI results. The images were graphic and vivid-almost
scary to look at.” He described to me the blood vessels “feeding” the two tumors. “I
couldn’t help but feel they were growing as we were standing there.” I asked him about
my mom and her hair loss. “It didn’t shake me. I knew it would happen so it wasn’t such
a shock. I even shaved it for her, to let her know that I was okay with it.” I personally
wasn’t there to see the shaving, but my dad mentioned that it was at first awkward. Silent
for the most part, with a few interjections from my mom talking about day to day things
like work, the kids, church, things to try and establish a sense of normalcy. But things
were not normal. Despite the early awkwardness, it was the humor that would lighten the
mood.
“I kid her that I have more hair than she does,” he said. For the record, my dad is
bald. “She kids she will get firmer breasts the second time around and that I [My dad]
have always wanted ‘ski slopes.’” I laughed with my dad for a little while when he said
this because my dad claims that “ski slopes” (the breast type he think Jennifer Anniston
has) are better than bigger breasts. He and I have quarreled over this in the past, so the
fact that he mentioned it now was somewhat comforting, as if we could still have silly
discussions despite my mother’s situation. He said that my mom tries to make fun of
herself but that it is a defense mechanism. Humor has been used before to sort of soften
the blow that cancer throws. This is evident in the documentary A Light That Shines,
presented by The Documentary Network, where the focus person of the film Jill
Cromley. Jill makes a joke that she organized her marriage on her husband’s birthday so
he wouldn’t forget. This little bit of humor will not heal the wounds that her cancer has
left, but it can create a sense of normalcy and a short moment of happiness. Still being

6. able to laugh, even in this context, has helped my dad remain positive. I asked him about
how he treated my mom, if he was able to comfort her without pitying her.
“I thought of spring,” he said, “a time of revival. So I wanted to get her flowers.
But I always get her flowers, and I don’t want her to feel pitied.” He told me of a more
unique way to give my mother flowers, without the idea of pity or sadness. “Your mother
loves planting, so I went to the hardware store and bought your mom new gloves and
planting tools.” He went on to say that now they can both look forward to planting
together.
At the closing of the interview, I asked him how his view of my mom’s illness has
changed throughout the experience. “Both doctors believe they will cure mom,” he said
proudly. “So that has given both of us much more confidence that we can beat this thing,
albeit, a bit less for you mom.” He told me that she still worries about the reoccurrence
because some of her friends/fellow patients have had reoccurrences. She is no stranger to
cancer, her best friend’s sister has had breast cancer return. She also knows a few co-
workers who have had family members with the disease. But probably the most prevalent
reminder is her mother, Eleanor Anderson.
My grandma is a very compassionate person. From when I was young she
emanated kindness, generosity, and a deep appreciation for her family. Her calls are a
commonality in my household, but unfortunately are not always answered. Listening to
her kind voicemails made you feel somewhat remorseful that you were not there to pick
up the phone. She is religious, but does not believe in forcing religion unto her less-than-
dedicated grandchildren. Instead, she reminds us that no matter what, God is a guide, a

7. hope, and she has passed down to me the belief that everything happens for a reason and
that things will work out in the end. She is and always has been a positive person. Her
positivity, I felt, would be important in analyzing her perspective as my mother’s mom,
or “mum,” as she says.
I interviewed my grandmother through email, as she lives in Boynton Beach,
Florida. When I contacted my Gram Jam to ask her about how she felt about mom, I
remembered times before when I talked to her on the phone and through email and how
the subject of my mom’s cancer came up regularly. She would ask how my mom was
doing, how she was feeling. I could only imagine how she felt, knowing that her eldest
daughter had to receive chemotherapy over 1,200 miles away.
“She told me in person in your living room,” she said, “when I came up to
Brooklyn for Christmas.” This came as a surprise to me, as I thought my mother would
have told her mom right after she found out, rather than wait to do it in person. I
understand the value of personal interaction, but I figured my mom would want to tell my
Gram Jam when she found out. I asked her what my mom’s body language resembled
when they spoke.
“From what I remember it was like just having a conversation with each other,”
she said. She added that my mom did not display much anxiety or any abnormal emotions
at all. Jan Hoffman said in her New York Times article “When Thumbs Up is no
Comfort,” said that “optimism reassures anxious relatives, the public and doctors,
regardless of whether it accurately reflects the patient’s emotional state.” This could
explain why my mother seemed stoic when she was talking to my grandmother, when in

8. reality she was scared, as was evident when she told my dad. Maybe she was able to
better conceal her anxiety in front of her mother because she already expressed her
concerns to my dad.
I asked her some more general questions about how she felt, but I didn’t feel like I
was getting anywhere in terms of depth. I wanted my grandma to really delve deep,
almost rant. This was hard for me considering my grandma is generally tame and calm, I
wasn’t sure if I really wanted to push my kind Gram Jam to a more heated or even
stressful expression of feelings. But I felt that it was necessary for my project to prod a
little more. Instead of asking her to simply tell me her first thoughts, I wanted to infuse a
bit of judgment into the question. Rather than say what were your first thoughts? I posed
my question more directly by saying was your first response empty? I could tell this
question struck a cord, because her response was not a few sentences as the others had
been, but a lengthy, passionate paragraph. She expressed her feelings of confusion, much
like my father had.
“Why does she have to go through another illness?” she wrote. She told me that
my mom has been going through illness since she was twelve, starting with appendicitis.
Over the years, my mom would have her gallbladder removed, debilitating allergies that
sometimes kept her out of class, thyroid surgery, foot surgery, to name a few. I also
noticed my usually calm and quaint Gram Jam began using much more exclamation
points and capital letters in her response. “She always had her mammograms! Took care
of herself! WHY? WHY? I am having trouble thinking was my response empty!” On
her own accord, she went even further in her response. She went on to talk about how my

9. mother tried to spare her [my grandma] the stress of having her sit there with my mom
and wait anxiously at her chemo appointments.
“This is how considerate she is!!! Having your child ill is terrible feeling on a
mother. We [parents] are supposed to have these as we age, not watch our children
become so ill.” My grandmother’s shock was evident in her email. She mentioned that no
one on her side or on her late husband’s side had breast cancer before my mom. This
statement came as a shock to me, since my mom never told me about her family history
with cancer. I knew her dad had brain cancer, and my grandma has a variant of leukemia
but is for the most part healthy. But for my mom to be the first of her lineage to have
breast cancer, this surprised me. In addition to this surprising answer, her answer to my
question of acceptance was also came as a surprise.
“I accepted it pretty much right away,” she said. My mom went to chemo the next
day with my grandma. Gram Jam told me that she hadn’t cried until she went with my
mom to shop for wigs. “It is very difficult for me to cry,” she said, “but shopping for the
wigs, this did make it real and tears came.” She said that the hairdresser was able to
console her. She went on to tell me how she found solace in her friend Andy and her
sister Anne. But the other person she confided in, my Auntie Brenda, would be a
perspective that I was anxious to investigate.
My Auntie Brenda is probably the only person in my family that could make me
laugh to the point of urination, where she has in the past. She is an avid cook, and
sometimes I question whether my own mother loves my sister and I as much as my aunt
does. She found out that my mom was awaiting biopsy results a week before the final

10. diagnosis was revealed. My mom was going on a business trip to Puerto Rico and
decided to stop in West Palm to see her family. Auntie Brenda said they were waiting for
the doctor to call with the results with my Grandma.
“I was so nervous,” she said. “We did not want to let Gram know what was going
on at that time.” The call never came and the feeling was bittersweet. This way, they did
not have to tell Gram Jam about the suspicion, but at the same time they were anxious to
get the results. When it came time for my mom to leave, my aunt had trouble saying
goodbye. “That Sunday night, I had a terrible feeling that she thought the results would
be bad.” My mom called her back when she returned to New York after her trip to Puerto
Rico to tell her the news.
“I think she could feel my heartbreak through the phone,” she said, “and I could
feel hers. Both of us cried a bit and also both tried to be positive and upbeat.” Despite the
attempt at positivity and her acceptance of the situation, it would seem my aunt would not
be able to come to grips with my mom’s cancer right away. Her initial response was not
fear, or anger towards God or anyone else, but the feeling was one of sadness. “I cried for
about a month every time I thought of her. I actually could think of nothing else but
Lynda. I could not concentrate. I could not get through church with out sobbing.” It was
clear that my aunt was struck by my mom’s diagnosis. And why shouldn’t she be. This
was her older sister, someone she looked up to, followed as a child and sought advice
from when they grew older. At one point, my uncle tried to snap her out of her hysteria.
“I screamed at him,” she said, “and actually said to him ‘I don't know if you
understand how much I love her.’ At that point he understood and I began to force myself

11. into positive thoughts.” My aunt kept reminding me about how much she loved my mom
and how important my mom was to her. When I asked her what she planned to do to help
or how she would try to improve the situation, she told me about fundraising. “I am
raising money for a walk through trading my cheesecakes for donations. It is a small
thing I can do to help support the cause for women who may not have adequate health
insurance.”
In A Light That Shines, Cromley undergoes a photo shoot in Paris with famed
photographer Sue Bryce. This photo shoot was meant not to directly raise money for
breast cancer research, but to start a beauty campaign in which it inspires women and
other cancer patients to find the beauty beyond their cancer. This is kind of like what my
aunt is doing by donating her cheesecakes. This cheesecake campaign is spreading cheer
to inspire awareness and eventually raise money for research. Despite the sensitive
subject, my mom’s younger sister reassured me that her view of my mom had not
changed. “I have the same love, admiration and respect for your Mom as pre cancer,” she
said. My aunt’s point of view has proven vital not just as an emotional source, but also as
a source of aid and awareness. A sister’s perspective can sometimes be the closest and
most intimate one to analyze. That is why my next interview subject is my sister,
Mallory.
Mallory is sixteen years old, three years younger than I am. She is a junior in high
school and a straight A student. She has always been exemplary in school, but I wanted to
know more about her emotion stance on the issue regarding my mom. She is very mature
for her age, so I knew I could ask her the personal questions without fear of soiling her

12. innocence. My sister and I have talked about my mom’s cancer causally before, as
brothers and sisters do most topics. Despite our idle chit-chat, I never really knew how
she felt about it. I knew she thought it was strange and she was affected by it, as I was,
but I wanted to know her deeper feelings.
“Mom sat me down one evening on her bed,” she said, “just the two of us, to tell
me that she had found a lump in one of her breasts.” My mom told Mallory that it could
be benign. So the initial shock was not too severe for my sister. “About a week later she
sat me down on the same bed, during the daytime, but this time we were accompanied by
Dad and you (Matthew).” I remember the day my mom told us, Mallory was there, and
Dad. The dogs were wrestling at the foot of the bed, oblivious to the news that would
change our lives. Mallory said that since she knew of the concern a week before, when
our mom told us she had cancer, Mallory was not too overwhelmed. “I was sad but
nowhere near hysterical.” My sister is a strong-minded person. She is a member of the
honor society, she is an actress, dancer, singer, confidant, partner in crime. Her
confidence in my mom did not surprise me. I asked her if she ever cried over the news.
“Of course I cried,” she said, “but I felt confident that she would get better.” She
went on to tell me that when she thought of cancer, she saw sickly people, dying in
hospital beds. “But with mom, I didn’t.” Mallory expressed concern about how our
mother would look after losing her hair and eyebrows, because she was so involved with
every step of the treatment. This constant involvement is the real factor that separates my
sister and I, as I have been away at school during most of the ordeal. But it was this
involvement that would ease the suffering behind the ordeal. “I was comfortable with

13. each new appearance she took on. It wasn’t even that weird for me the first time I saw her
bald.” I asked her about whom she told about our mom’s cancer. She said she told her
best friend, Bruni, who had had family members with cancer. Since some of those
relatives had died, Mallory was worried that Bruni would jump to a negative conclusion.
But ironically, Bruni was accepting and initially calm. It was her other, less intimate
friends that would be harder to tell the news to.
“I only told other friends that I had to (ones that were coming over to the house),”
she said. “But it’s awkward because they immediately feel super bad.” This pity from
friends made my sister defensive of our mom, she would hastily say that it wasn’t that
serious, that she would be ok. I never thought of this scenario: our mother’s cancer
making my sister defensive of her. It was not really a protective instinct that I assumed
was present, but one of defense. It wasn’t to shield our mother from external forces of
involvement, but to defend her against judgment and pity. In Katherine Schneider’s book
Counseling About Cancer, in chapter 10, she talks about the many emotions (some
conflicting) that are experienced by clients. “Clients may exhibit a range of emotional
reactions,” is says on the first page of chapter 10. It goes on to list the types of emotions,
such as anger, fear of disfigurement and disability, and anxiety, among others. One of
which that I think pertains to Mallory’s case is guilt and shame. “People typically have
little or no control over an adverse event; however, they may feel as though they could or
should have done something different to try and change the outcome.” This type of guilt
is commonly present with people who have a family history of cancer, but I wanted to try
and apply it to this situation. Mallory is by no means at fault with my mother’s cancer
and does seem too anxious about it at all. However, maybe she feels she is obligated to

14. help my mother by defending her. Maybe if she protects our mother’s image, by
reassuring her friends that our mom will be ok, she can in some way alter the outcome or
help the healing process. She said she did not experience pity from the family members,
as they were feeling what she was, but maybe the she was in fact getting pity from her
friends. This pity may have triggered the defense. Sympathy is appreciated, whereas pity
can be taken, in the words of Mallory, as “awkward.”
In closing, I asked my sister how she views disease. I asked her how this situation
has changed her perception about cancer and what she plans to do about her health in the
future. “I realize now that all cancer is not the same,” she said. “Every case is different. It
depends on the type, stage, person, etc. I will not fear cancer now. I will make smart
health decisions and get regular screenings so that, if I do get it, I will be ready to ‘bend it
over.’” Her last comment warmed me, as it is what I usually say to mom. I tell her to
“bend it over,” which is crude, but that’s my humor. By using this, Mallory has shown
me that she thinks it’s ok to laugh too, just like my dad and I. I know it’s crude, and can
be offensive, but to know that it has resonated with my family in a positive way makes
me feel better about the situation as a whole.
My sister, reluctantly, said that this situation was a good thing for the family. Up
until the diagnosis, things in the house were miserable. “I was constantly busy and
stressed and Mom and Dad fought constantly. You were gone and the house felt empty,
like the absence of one person made all the difference.” It seemed that after the diagnosis,
the family grew closer, putting aside their petty problems and making room for not just
my mom but for each other. “It was like the stupid things we once fought about
constantly were made trivial and insignificant because there was something so much

15. more important for us to care about.” As my research has progressed and I am finding out
more and more about how my family feels about this situation, I am feeling a bit
uncomfortable because the closer I get to finishing these perspective, the closer I will be
to facing my own emotions and deep seeded feelings about my mom’s cancer. A task I
have been avoiding since my mother told me about her diagnosis. But before I address
my feelings, there is one more perspective that is pivotal to the investigation.
My mother, Lynda, is a kind, tolerant, hardworking woman who sometimes does
not know when enough is enough. Whether she is discussing politics with my dad,
schoolwork with my sister, or adjusting my class schedule for next semester, my mom
can be one of the most stubborn people I know. A trait that I have grown to loathe as well
as admire. She loves to talk. I think she has more friends than anyone else her age, simply
because she can talk to anyone about anything. Whether we’re on line at the supermarket,
or on the phone with tech support, her polite and social nature has branched out into a
great oak of a social life. She is a strong woman, powering through a stressful work
schedule. She is on the board for Lutheran Medical center, an active member of our
church and community, and now a cancer survivor. I admire my mother and envy her
ability to remain steadfast even in the harshest conditions. When I first thought of this
topic to investigate, she was the first interview subject I thought of.
“I had no history of breast cancer in my family or other risk factors,” she said. “At
age 40 I started having annual mammography screening in addition to annual breast exam
included as part of annual exam by gynecologist.” Prior to November 2012, every
mammogram for past 13 years came back with no findings. Her annual screenings were
never a concern to me. I never thought about them, I hadn’t even known until recently

16. that she was having them annually. She never talked to me about them until the
diagnosis. “This time I received a call informing me that the results indicated an
“asymmetrical density” that suggested further testing was necessary.” While this was not
good news, my mom said she was not overly concerned as she knew there can be many
lumps in the breasts. These benign lumps, such as fibroids and cysts that have to
evaluated but are not necessarily cancerous. So, for further investigation, she had to see a
doctor. The doctor did another mammography, as well as a sonogram. When these tests
found irregularities, the doctor then did a few needle biopsies. After taking four or five
biopsies out of her right breast, he took one out of her lymph node under her armpit. The
results would come back seven to ten days later, but my mother didn’t need to wait that
long.
“When I came out of Dr. Kolb’ s office I knew it was cancer and I was very
shaken by it because it happened so fast and unexpectedly.” This surprised me, as my
mom usually has a positive outlook on life and tries not to expect the worst. “It was after
work and about 8 pm and I was definitely in pain from the multiple biopsies he took. I
called Dad and was actually shaking on the phone and told him about what just
happened.” My dad told her to just come home and talk about it, which they did. She
wouldn’t know one hundred percent if she had cancer until the results came in, but still,
she was scared. It wasn’t until a week later that she found out the results.
At 6:00 pm, that next Monday, my mom got a call saying “the biopsy showed
significant disease in the breast and the lymph nodes.” My mom said she wasn’t
surprised. With the help of her best friend, whose sister also has had breast cancer, she
had already researched which surgeons were the best. “At that point, Matthew, it was no

17. longer emotional but rather like a job to get an appointment immediately! Once I knew I
had cancer, all I wanted to do was get treatment ASAP. I can’t tell you the urgency I
felt!” This was the side of my mom that I knew well. She got the news and was ready to
attack it head on. For her to want to get chemo as quickly as possible is a courage that I
have not yet experienced myself in my life. In Schneider’s book, Counseling About
Cancer, Schneider mentions on page 361 that one of the emotional reactions to adverse
scenarios is resiliency and even pleasant emotions. “Clients may feel that they have inner
strength and fortitude to face their risks of cancer because they have survived previous
adverse events.” This could be true, considering my mom has had many surgeries and
illnesses and has conquered them all. But my mom’s bravery would soon be challenged
by another obstacle.
“The problem was it was now December 12,” she said, “and both doctors’ offices
said they could not see me until after January. That is when I flipped! I locked myself in
an office at work and spent the whole day calling, begging, pleading, faxing my biopsy
results to show the sense of urgency until finally the doctor said he would see me in the
hospital that Friday.” My mom’s stubborn nature would prove once again, to be a force
unmatched. Rather than accept the unfortunate circumstance, she pushed and pushed until
she reached a desirable result. But she did not credit her determination solely to her. “I
was so determined but I also believe I had the man up above working with me! He really
always has his hand in our lives.”
She went on to tell me that she got breast cancer in an early stage, one that is most
treatable and has the highest survival rate. She reminded me that she would try to eat
healthier, a task that would not cure her disease but just provide a better quality of life as

18. well as a better foundation for treatment. I saw an inspiration in my mom that was
remarkable. To be diagnosed with the Big C is not usually a cause for inspiration, but one
of defeat. She said that eating right and exercising would help keep the cancer in
remission, but I saw my mother doing this for other reasons. She has wanted to be
healthier and more active for as long as I have known her. Maybe it was this rapture that
finally gave her the push to achieve her goals. Which is ironic, because she is usually the
one doing the pushing. This was the deepest I had ever talked to my mom about her
cancer. To close, she told me the most important thing she would get out of this situation.
“The most important thing to come from this for me has been to really put to
practice my faith. I do believe I need to give up control and really trust in God. That
doesn’t mean that I don’t do my part and work with the best doctors, but I have to take it
a day at a time.” She finished our discussion with a quote from my family friend’s late
husband, who recently died of lung cancer. “As our dear friend Georgie always said, ‘let
God do what He does best’ and that is take care of us.” Jeffrey Kluger said, in his Times
article “The Biology of Belief,” that it is normal to pray for our health and rly on
religious faith for healing. “Health, by definition, is the sine qua non of everything else. If
you're dead, serenity is academic. So we convince ourselves that while our medicine is
strong and our doctors are wise, our prayers may heal us too.” It seems that my mother
has a tight grip on her cancer and is not letting go anytime soon. If I had trouble facing
my emotions before, I feel my mother’s testimony has inspired me enough to do so. The
time has come for me to address my feelings on the matter.
As I face this issue, I realize that I really don’t know how to feel. I’ve been
running from my feelings about this for such a long time because I’m scared of what I’m

19. going to find. My reservations aside, and for the integrity of my documentary, I will
proceed with my perspective.
When my mom told me she had breast cancer, I did not move. Not out of shock,
or sadness, or fear, but because I did not know what to do. What to think. I felt as though
I had heard something profound but it did not move me. I was freaked out, sure, but I was
not afraid. I was not sad. I never looked at my mom differently and I couldn’t accept it
until after I saw my mom with her spikey haircut. It was weird, and I didn’t really like
how it looked on her. But still, I was not shaken. It was as if nothing had happened. Aside
from the unusual sight of my mom without hair, or with a wig that resembled an orthodox
Jewish woman, I didn’t see my mom as having cancer. I didn’t see the cancer. It wasn’t
there. It didn’t phase me. It was not the predominant thing on my mind. I didn’t even
think to tell my friends. My mom told them herself when they came over one day to hang
out. How could I feel this empty about it? She’s my mom. My mom. She gave birth to
me, nurtured me, she made me who I am. How can I not be sad for her? I know if she
were here, she would tell me not to be sad for her, but how can I not be? This is what I
was afraid to address.
I was not angry when I found out. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t question it. I certainly
didn’t accept it. I didn’t cry for days because of it. in fact, the first time I actually cried
about it was while doing this project. I never once before this shed a tear. What kind of
son am I if I cannot shed a tear for my mother who has shed so many for me. When I was
born. When I had appendicitis. When I left for college. When I was afraid. When I was
happy. How could I not have the decency to cry for her? In all of my sources, I cannot
find anything about a lack of emotions. None of the academic sources I have, that are

20. written by experts in the field of cancer, the psychology of cancer and counseling, have
shown me any cases where this is so. I know my mother will be ok. For that, I am happy.
I love my mom, my family. My mother and my family are the most important things in
my life.
Then how can I not cry for her? It hurts to face this, but I simply cannot answer
why. This question will probably never be solved and follow me for the rest of my life.
However, I can find solace in the fact that I have addressed it. I can accept it, and still
know that I love my mother, my family, and myself. I can say that I am not saddened or
hurt by my mother’s cancer, but I can also say for sure that it has changed me. It has
become one of the most cardinal chapters in my life.
This project has proven to be the hardest and most meaningful projects I have
undertaken. As I was pursuing this documentary, the song How’s It Going to Be, by Third
Eye Blind, was playing in the back of my mind. The gentle electric guitar riff gliding
along the melody as the lyrics fall in line. “I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore.
Before you take a swing, I wonder, what are we fighting for? When I say out loud I want
to get out of this, I wonder, is there anything I'm going to miss?” This project has given
me a conduit to speak openly about this issue with my family members. I feel as though I
can truly be myself with my family and address issues that we may try to hide from or
bury in the back yard. “The hammocks by the doorway we spent time in swing empty.
Don't see lightning like last fall when it was always about to hit me. I wonder how's it
going to be, when it goes down? How’s it going to be, when your not around? How’s it
going to be?” (How’s It Going to Be)

21. This documentary has brought my family closer. My family members have
expressed their pride in me as they have read my work and questions. As my father and I
have been at odds for as long as I can remember, this has brought us closer. As a family, I
feel we can appreciate each other more. It has shown me the true strength my mother
possesses. The light in her that burns through me, my sister, my father, her mother, her
sister, and many others. This project has forced me to confront my feelings and myself. I
have often questioned who I am and what I am meant to do. Even if this is my greatest
achievement, it has been worth it. I am thankful for this experience, and I am grateful for
my family. It has renewed my faith in God as well as in my family as a unit and as a
home.

22. Works Cited
 Ropeik, David. “Cancer on the Brain.” New York Times 12 June 2012
 The Documentary Network. The Light That Shines. The Documentary Network.
Web. Jan. 29, 2013. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIA0_U_eA4M
 Parker-Pope, Tara. “Cancer Emotions: Upbeat, Stoic or Just Scared?” New York
Times 2 June 2008
 Jan Hoffman. “When Thumbs Up is no Comfort.” New York Times 1 June 2008
 Grassi, Luigi, and Michelle Riba. Clinical Pyscho-Oncology. West Sussex, UK:
John Wiley and Sons, Ltd, 2012. Print.
 Schneider, Katherine. Counseling about Cancer. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley and
Sons, Inc., 2012. Print.
 Third Eye Blind. “How’s It Going to Be.” Third Eye Blind. Elektra Entertainment.
18 November 1997.