Therese (Mom)

There are moments in life that forever change the way we see the people we love.

For me, that moment came as I stood beside my grown daughter in a hospital room, praying she would survive.

It wasn’t only fear that overwhelmed me. It was understanding.

For the first time in my life, I truly understood what my own mother must have felt as she watched me battle cancer—not once, but twice.

Some lessons don’t come with age. They come with heartbreak.

When I became a mother, I finally understood what people meant when they said your heart begins walking around outside your body. Suddenly, someone else’s happiness mattered more than your own. Their pain became your pain, and their joy became your joy. You spend years trying to protect them from scraped knees, broken hearts, and disappointment, never imagining that one day you may have to protect them from something far greater.

Looking back, I realize my own mother understood that long before I ever did.

When I was just twenty-four years old, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. My oldest daughter was only two years old. At the time, my focus was simply on surviving, raising my little girl, and believing there would be brighter days ahead. I don’t think I ever stopped to consider what my diagnosis meant for my mother. While I was fighting for my life, she was quietly carrying a burden no parent should ever have to bear—watching her child battle cancer.

Years later, breast cancer entered my life, and my mother found herself walking that road with me all over again. Twice she stood on the sidelines, praying, hoping, and trying to be strong for everyone else. It wasn’t until recently that I truly began to understand what those years must have felt like for her.

That little two-year-old who sat beside me during my first cancer journey grew up to become an incredible woman. She married, built a beautiful life, and became the mother of a precious two-year-old daughter. Then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, I found myself standing in a hospital room, wondering if I was about to lose her.

Parents are supposed to go first.

That’s the natural order of life we all hope for. We expect to watch our children grow, celebrate their milestones, and one day hold our grandchildren. We are never prepared to imagine a world without them. Whether our children are two years old or forty-two, they never stop being our babies.

As I stood beside my daughter, I found myself thinking about my mother more than ever before. Had she felt this same helplessness while watching me? Had she hidden the same fear behind a reassuring smile? Had she gone home each night praying for one more day with her daughter? In that moment, I realized that while our experiences were different, our hearts were carrying the very same burden.

My mother has always lived by one simple piece of advice. Whenever life became overwhelming, whenever fear threatened to take over, she would gently remind me, “Put it in God’s hands.” Those words weren’t just something she said—they are the way she lives. She believes there comes a point when we’ve done everything we possibly can, and all that remains is to trust that God is still at work, even when we cannot see it.

That lesson became the anchor for my own life. It carried me through two cancer diagnoses, through moments of uncertainty, and through seasons when the future seemed impossible to predict. Standing beside my daughter, I found myself repeating those same words over and over again: Put it in God’s hands.

By God’s grace and what I can only describe as a miracle, my daughter was saved.

I know not every story ends the way ours did, and my heart aches for the parents whose prayers were answered differently than mine. I don’t pretend to understand why some families receive more time while others face unimaginable loss. What I do know is that faith doesn’t erase fear, but it gives us something to hold onto when fear threatens to consume us.

Life has a way of carrying us in different directions. Our children grow up, move away, build careers, get married, and start families of their own. Work fills our calendars. Responsibilities pile up. Before we know it, weeks turn into months, and sometimes the people we love most become the people we see the least. Not because we love them any less, but because life convinces us there will always be another weekend, another holiday, another family dinner.

Then something happens that stops time.

A phone call.

An emergency.

A hospital room.

Suddenly, the meetings on our calendar, the laundry waiting to be folded, and the emails demanding a response lose their importance. Sitting beside someone you love has a way of bringing everything into focus. In those moments, you realize that what matters most has never been your schedule—it has always been your people.

Today, my gratitude runs deeper than words can express. Every phone call from my daughter, every family dinner, and every smile on a FaceTime call of my granddaughter saying “AAAAA-men” reminds me that miracles are not always loud or dramatic. Sometimes they look like another ordinary day with the people you love. And after coming so close to losing one of them, I will never look at those ordinary days the same way again.

This journey has also given me a gift I never expected.

It has allowed me to see my own mother through different eyes. I no longer see only the woman who raised me. I see the mother who quietly carried unimaginable fear while watching her daughter battle cancer—not once, but twice. I see the strength it took to trust God when the future was uncertain, and the faith she chose to live every single day.

If you are fortunate enough to still have your parents, call them. Thank them—not only for the sacrifices you remember, but for the countless burdens they carried that you may never have known about.

If your children are grown, don’t wait for the next holiday or the next special occasion to tell them you love them. Life will always be busy. Work will always demand more. Distance may separate us, and schedules may become full, but the people we love should never wonder how much they mean to us.

None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. What we do have is today.

So make the phone call.

Plan the visit.

Take the picture.

Give the hug.

Say “I love you” before you hang up.

Because one ordinary day may become one of your most treasured memories.

No parent should ever have to watch their child suffer.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned through my mother’s example and my own journey, it’s this:

Put it in God’s hands. He has never let me down.