In the Room When It Happened

My cellphone rang. It was my mom. I don’t remember all of the details, but I remember that my sisters were on the phone. This was normal. Mom liked to have the full Juber sister experience at once, so a group call was normal; for us anyway. It’s been so long now that I don’t remember her words, just the feeling. The hot, heavy and complete hopelessly empty feeling. “They think it might be cancer.”, she said. This is where this phone call separated itself from our typical Juber women conversation. It was all business. “How did you find out?” “Is this why you’ve been so sick?” “When are you going to the doctor?” The questions flooded in, but not he tears. There was no time for tears. Mom probably has cancer and she sounded scared. I can’t really remember my mom ever being scared. My memories of her in my youth are of her strength, independence, resilience and faith. To hear her scared, changed things this time.

Our conversation wasn’t anywhere near finished when I started texting Andrew. He didn’t even hesitate when I asked if I could go. My plane ticket was purchased within minutes. Idaho Falls is only a quick two hour flight from our home in Arizona to Salt Lake City, UT and then a three hour car ride. But I was going. I announced on the call that I was coming. Lou immediately texted and told me thank you because she could’t make it, but she was glad that I could just go. It was a blessing; being able to just go. I knew that Andrew, and maybe his mom, would take care of the kids without even skipping a beat.

The flight there was nerve wracking, to say the least. I remember feeling alone, and yet filled with love from my Father in Heaven. I also somehow just knew that it would be cancer. You see, I think God prepares me for things before they happen. I mean, obviously he does. Specifically when I need to be prepared, I just know.

Fast forward to the appointment. My brothers and I were there with her. Dad wasn’t able to go but we said that we would call for the appointment. The time in the waiting room was filled with inappropriate jokes about cancer and death. We’re those people. When we are faced with difficult circumstances, we deal with it by not letting it see our fear; as if cancer knows and hears and understands. They say that cancer can be intelligent and genius even, so why not? It can morph and grow and seemingly retaliate, so why not hear and understand fear? Back to the appointment. I was in the room where it happened. Her doctor came in and spoke in detail about scans and bloodwork and whatnot. She then informed us that it is cancer. Man, that word just makes your whole body go numb and flush with fever. Worse even, one cannot hear that word without its unspoken companion lingering in your mind. Death. If you or a loved one has ever received a cancer diagnosis then you know that it just hangs there in your thoughts, ever present as the pendulum of the grandfather clock in the living room. Ticking. Tocking. No matter how many times you tell it to go away because “it won’t happen to you”. But this is our new reality. Mom has uterine cancer. Apparently that’s a good kind. Did you know that there’s a good kind of cancer? I mean, I knew that there were stages that are obviously better than others, but there are also cancers that are better than others. And this was a good one.

I was back at the airport in no time. Flying alone with this knowledge that I wanted to give back. I wanted to leave it in the room. News like that follows you though. It never stays in the room where it happened. It can’t. It has too much to do. So it followed me all the way to the airport in Utah. As I waited for my plane, I tried so hard to keep it together; the word “CANCER” sporadically appearing in my mind. I was hungry. I had no appetite, but I was hungry. In the Southwest Airlines wing of the Salt Lake Airport, Wendy’s was basically your only option. So I headed that way. Just a hop, skip and a jump from the gates and wouldn’t you know it…about the time that I hopped, my skip was interrupted by the sight of The Clown. Andrew had a name for two boys in my past. One will not not be shared, but the other was The Clown. Just guys that I had dated and was strictly forbidden to marry, should Andrew ever die. Refer back to us being those people. He’s included in that dark humor. Anyway, there he was with his wife. He loved my mom. I wanted to tell him but was also paralyzed at the thought of sharing the information. So I did what any grown adult would do and I hid. I stayed out of sight as much as I could, knowing that I would be on the same flight as them within the hour. I just needed to make it onto the plane without being noticed and all would be well. I could fall apart on the plane in peace. It’s strange though. Knowing that someone that I knew and that knew my mom was on the plane, was very comforting. I think because I knew that if I needed someone, that it wouldn’t be a stranger. Luckily I was able to go unnoticed through the boarding process and made it to a window seat. I enjoy the window seat the most. I have a fear of being trapped. Although cars driving on surface street 5 mph under the speed limit is something that legitimately triggers it for me, a plane is not something that does. That aside, a window seat is still comforting. I am able to look out at the entirety of the Earth and it grounds me. Even the pitch black vastness of the night with just a twinkle of lights as the only sign of life, it brings me comfort. So there, in the window seat of a Southwest Airlines flight from Salt Lake to Phoenix, in the dark of the night, I let the tears quietly and softly fall, with my forehead pressed against the window.

This is it. This is the big thing. This is our big thing. You see, just six months prior I was visiting Mom and Dad’s in Idaho with my kiddos. Nothing spectacular was happening. I was sitting on the sectional. Dad was in his chair. Brandon was finishing up in the kitchen. As I sat there, I had the strangest overwhelming feeling. I can’t describe it. It wasn’t fear, excitement, fever or chill. Just overwhelming. And then I knew and said it aloud. “Something big is coming.”, I said. “What?!”, Brandon retorted in confusion, not sure if he heard me right. “Something big. I don’t know what, but our family hasn’t had a big trial in a while and I just know that something big is coming that I need to prepare for.”, I replied. “Well that’s heavy, Ash.”, he shot back. I shrugged and raised my brows and we just continued on. The feeling never left me though. Come January, and Mom’s cancer diagnosis, surely this was the something big.

It wasn’t.