True resilience develops from a body and mind that have been carved out of challenge and failure
About a week into my daughter, Taylor's, cancer diagnosis I silently sobbed while listening to the sound of running water from the shower, I knew it would be one of the last times, for a long time, she would feel the suds cascading down her long chestnut-brown hair, gleaming and satiny.
I shivered as I heard the clanking faucet turning off, quickly wiped my tears, and thought about the person Taylor was inside. Was I the only one anxious about this? Maybe Taylor would be okay with the dreaded words a mother never dares to think she will have to tell her daughter.
She came out of the shower wrapped in two towels, one on her head and one on her body, I gestured for her to come cuddle on my lap. As I caressed her face, I gently explained, “Tales, within two weeks, you are going to lose your hair.” She didn’t say a word, tightened her grip around my shoulders, and breathed deeply, taking the air from my lungs directly into hers. A few tears silently slipped down her porcelain face, wetting my sleeve. She peacefully rested her head on my shoulder. The moment was so tender. We held each other for as long as I can remember, and although the circumstances were dire, it is those times that I cherish the most—the moments of sheer unconditional love shared between mother and child.
As her wet towel and soft tears dampened my shirt and shattered my heart, Taylor taught me the first of many life lessons. No one would wish cancer on his or her worst enemy, but there can be some good that comes out of it. If you let it, slows life down just long enough to afford you opportunities to hold close the ones you love, breathe in their scent, feel their skin upon yours, and unwaveringly thank God for bringing them into your life. As long as we had each other, nothing else mattered.