As Mother’s Day approaches this year, I will have a little swell of pride inside me instead of my normal feeling of general numbness. A little piece of a story I’m a part of will be told.

On Monday, May 12th at 9PM, the documentary The (Dead Mothers) Club will premiere on HBO. As you may remember, I backed this film in 2011 on Kickstarter and I’ve been following the two filmmakers, Katie Green and Carlye Rubin, ever since. I’m incredibly excited for these two to have their film debut here.

I’m not in the film or anything and to be honest, I haven’t seen it yet. I’ve just watched the trailer a million times and feel this is a story that many will identify with.

Please help show your support and tune in to watch it on HBO on Monday, May 12th at 9PM.

I would host a viewing party but I’m pretty sure I’m going to go to the ugly cry during this so I’m better off doing that in private.

Here’s a little more about the film from the Smoke & Apple Productions website:

The Club  tells the stories of three women whose mothers died during adolescence – a Southern artist making sense of her past while redefining herself through her artwork; a high school senior struggling to gain independence from her close-knit family; and a Brazilian living in NY, navigating first-time motherhood while discovering her genetic fate.

The film reveals how coming of age without their mothers has and continues to play a role in their lives. Structured around a series of ‘dialogues’ featuring Rosie O’Donnell, Jane Fonda and Molly Shannon who speak candidly about their own experiences and thread the stories of the three women followed together. From their intricate relationships with ‘mother figures’, the cyclical nature of grief to their own mortality, the women of The Club provoke thoughts surrounding the innate and complicated nature of the mother/daughter relationship, even in its absence…

xo,

S.

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Today, on what would have been my mom’s 66th birthday, another woman bravely shared her decision to have an elective double mastectomy after she found out that she carried the BRCA1 gene mutation for breast cancer.

Angelina Jolie shared this very personal decision with the world in the New York Times Op-Ed today.

The sharing of this news has thankfully reignited an important conversation that is near and dear to my heart, breast cancer prevention and the need for a cure.

If you’ve read the article and now have questions about BRCA and genetic testing, I encourage you to please check out the group Force: Facing Our Risk of Cancer Empowered. They do terrific work and provide great information and support for those that are considering genetic testing.

Thank you Angelina for sharing your story and bringing awareness to women everywhere about genetic testing and the preventive measures that are available today for hereditary breast cancer.

Happy Birthday Mom – we are getting closer to a cure. Love you. Miss you.

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“Mommy? Did your Mommy have loo-kia-meee-ah?”

My back was turned at the sink when my 6 year old daughter asked me this direct question with only 10 minutes left in our morning routine to get out the door. Instantly, I felt like a Mack truck had slammed into my gut. I braced myself with the counter and tried to turn to face her sweet face. She was chewing her frosted mini-wheats and her spoon still dangled in the air. I met her eyes and started to answer but the words did not come. Instead, my eyes  welled and the tears fell.

I had never cried before in front of my daughter.

I have never used the words, “breast cancer” or “leukemia” to describe my mother’s health battles so I was shocked by her question.  To date, I had only shared that Mommy’s Mommy was now in heaven and that she had gotten very sick and that God needed her to do angels’ work.  This explanation had seemed to suffice – until now… when the questions came at me, like a tsunami.

“Honey, where did you hear about leukemia?”

“We are doing Pennies for Patients at school. It’s for loo-kia-meee-ah.”

“Leukemia.” 

“Yes. There’s a Kinderfriend that has leukemia and we raising money to help them.”

“That’s wonderful honey.”

“So did your Mommy have it? What is it?”

“Well… “

And here’s where I’d love to say I handled this parenting challenge beautifully and gave her the most age-appropriate explanation of what ‘cancer’ is and why some people get it and some people don’t. And how I comforted her fears about what this scary disease was and how, yes, even sometimes children get it.

But I didn’t .

Instead I blubbered my way through an extremely lame metaphor of how cancer cells were like bad Lego blocks in your body that stop doing their intended job. I’m pretty sure I confused her the minute I said Legos. Heck, I don’t even know what I was talking about… I said something about needing medicine that works really really hard to ‘poison the bad cells’ so they go away. To this she asked:

“Mommy why does the medicine make your hair fall out?”  Clearly, she had more information than she was letting on.

A second Mack truck slammed into my heart.  The tears came and the words got stuck in the back of my throat like a hard lump. I wasn’t ready for this.

“Mommy, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Oh jeez, please make it stop.

“No honey, I’m ok. I’m just sad.” *tears. gasp. sob*. ” It just makes me sad to think about when my Mommy was sick.”

Again, I made a dismal attempt at a mini-Biology and Chemistry lesson that was appropriate for a 1st grader.  I told her the medicine or “chemotherapy” was supposed to target the bad cells but didn’t always know the difference between the bad Lego blocks and the good ones so sometimes it had to attack the cells that make your hair. She seemed satisfied with the answer and went back to eating her mini-wheats.

“But Mommy, why doesn’t the medicine always work?”

And then I was at a loss. It was a great question. Why can’t we fix this? Why can’t we have a cure for cancer?

“I don’t know honey.”

Luckily my husband was still at home and when I closed the bathroom door sobbing, he was able to run interference.  I told him about the brief conversation over mini-wheats and how worried I was that I’d freaked our daughter out by crying in front of her. Through my tears, I tried to tell him how worried I was that she would think she made me sad by asking about my Mom, which is the last thing on earth I’d want her to feel and how I’d done a horrendous job explaining what cancer was. So he called her in and between the 3 of us sitting on the toilet seat and the edge of the tub we had one of the most meaningful family chats to date. With his help, we reassured her of why Mommy was really crying and how it was ok for me to cry and how it was ok for her to ask questions. Together we tried to explain ‘cancer’ and what it was. We didn’t dwell on it but made sure she was ok with it all.

Thank goodness he had been home.

For the rest of the day, all I could think of was how badly I wished I would never have to explain ‘cancer’ to my kids. But it was too late, the reality of this sometimes unfair world was here and my kids were now privy to this vocabulary: cancer, leukemia. It didn’t seem fair.

That following Saturday, Anna and Jack organized a lemonade stand to help fill her box for Pennies for Patients and Alex sat with them on the curb. I smiled with pride as I watched my kids continue to help find a cure for cancer. I hope that one day, in their lifetime, they will be able to tell their kids: “Cancer WAS this horrible disease that took your great-grandmother, but we helped cure it.”

Wouldn’t that be great?

Pennies for Patients

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Mom, me and bro: our last Christmas together

Holidays can be tough without my mom.  She always made the holidays extra special with simple and small touches; from decorating the house to convincing the entire dinner table to join in (and ACT OUT) the 12 Days of Christmas (ever been to Café Un Deux Trois during the holidays?).

I feel the void of her passing tenfold between Halloween and New Year’s.

And it sucks.

So whenever I need a pick-me-up I grab the kids and we jump in the car and head for my neighbors’ street.

There’s a cul-de-sac about a mile away from my house that melts my heart. It has 3 homes on it that do a SPECTACULAR job of decorating their lawns and homes for the holidays. Some might think it borders on “over the top” and “tacky” but to me… this is one of THE best things about Christmas.

My mom was quirky and fun and one of her favorite things to do at the holidays was to drive around and try to find the best and worst Christmas lights. We did this a lot when I was growing up and it quickly became a tradition. My boyfriend (now my husband) was dragged along and put up with it (smart man).

Thankfully, he now appreciates why I insist on loading up the car with our pajama-clad kids and driving around looking at lights. He gets it. He remembers how excited my mom would get when we’d turn a corner and collectively gasp and squint from the glare of an emblazoned crèche. And I’m so grateful.

If I ever grumble when I start to put up own Christmas decorations, I try to remember that this little effort will bring me and my family a lot of joy.  Because it does.  And when I drive down my neighbor’s street and see all the sparkly lights it just makes me smile. I can’t help it. I think of the hours and hours and hours it must have taken them to put up these elaborate displays, from the Hawaiian themed ‘Mele Kalikimaka’ house complete with diving dolphins and Luau’d waving Santa; to the full-on Santa with eight glittery reindeer.

So I want to say a very heartfelt and big THANK YOU to my special random neighbors and to everyone out there that takes the time and effort to decorate their homes for the holidays.

These efforts bring a little piece of my mom back to me at the holidays. I smile and remember the gaudy and glitzy displays from years ago and laughing in the car…  And I look at my own little family and am so incredibly grateful that I also get to share this with them.

To my neighbor that did this:

THANK YOU!!!

and to my Mom, Merry Christmas thank you for making those memories.

Miss you.

xo,

SARA

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My daughter just made my day, scratch that my month –  probably my year.

While working on her 1st grade homework this morning, in which she’s supposed to talk about our Thanksgiving traditions, she said:

“We have turkey, mashed potatoes, and crackers right?…

Oh wait! That’s not until Christmas!”

And that made my heart melt.

Because it confirmed for me that I’ve successfully passed on at least one tradition from my mom, the tradition of Christmas crackers.

My daughter will have no idea how this small statement warmed my soul today, a day that for no particular reason other than it’s Tuesday, I woke up feeling especially distant from my mom’s memory.

And then WHAM! Her spirit came soaring back in the room.

I’m so grateful for traditions and for my children and for the opportunity to share my wonderful mother’s traditions and stories.

What are some of your family’s Thanksgiving traditions?

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Panda = Me, Frog = my little brother. Circa 1980 somewhere in Canada

Remember when Halloween costumes were homemade?

I do.

When I was little my mother made my brother and I a bunch of Halloween costumes that would keep us toasty in the cold Canadian night air.  Over the years there was a panda, a frog, a lion and eventually an E.T. foam head with matching glowing extra-terrestrial finger. They were awesome and complete labors of love!

All we needed was our halloween sacks, snow boots and parkas. Loved it!

Thanks Mom!

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The other day I ran into the pharmacy to pick up a last minute birthday card and was stopped in my tracks.

My mother’s smell passed me in the shampoo aisle.

Literally, my heart skipped a beat.

I froze.

So distinct.

So strong.

That smell.

It was as if she had just been right there.

I soaked it in and appreciated all the memories the musky sweet smell brought flooding back: her hugs, her laugh, the drive home from college sophomore year…

Aromatics Elixir by Clinique was her favorite perfume.  She used to kid that it had actual pheromones in it and it would help her land the ‘right’ guy. Needless to say, she wore it often.

I didn’t cry. I just stopped and smiled and felt her hug.

I love it when that happens.

What smells do you love? Does anything remind you of a loved one? 

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For those of you expecting a Hurricane Irene wrap-up, I’m sorry this isn’t one. Instead I took one of MamaKat’s writing prompts and went with it: “4.) Tell your Grandma’s Story.”

My grandmother’s name was Irene. I never met her but I’m named for her, my middle name is Irene.

Irene, my Grandmother

She died very young.
At 39, she left a husband and 2 daughters behind after she lost her battle with ovarian cancer.

Her daughter, my mother, was only six, the same age my daughter, Anna is now.  She too shares her Grandmother’s name as her middle name: Susan, for the grandmother she will never meet.

I can’t imagine what that was like at that age, but I do know what it was like to become a mother without a mother, because my mother did die young, at 53.  I was 24 and then I became a mother at age 30.

Now I share something with my mother, no Grandmother to pass down the stories, explain the pictures.

It all falls to me.

There aren’t a lot of stories about Irene because she died so young. What little I do know is from a story my mother shared when I had the courage to ask her about her mother.

So this is Irene’s story, what little I know of it.

Irene was the daughter from a Scottish pedigree of missionaries, Ninian and Janey. Their genealogical roots muddy at best but traced back to the Isle of Man and an orphanage in Scotland. Together with her sister, Beatrice, the family made their way to Canada in hopes to rebuild.

At twenty five, she met my grandfather and a passionate love affair bloomed. They were immediately enamored and married; children and a family were the dream.

But children didn’t come.

For many years.

As Murphy’s wonderful law would have it, it wasn’t until finalizing an adoption that they became pregnant with my mother. Together with her sister, my mother was lovingly raised as if she were a twin.

For six short years.

Until their mother got sick.

My Grandmother Irene, Lani and my mother, Susan age 3

And then Irene’s beautiful hair turned silver gray and suddenly she was gone.

Before they even got to know her.

I know this about Irene:

She adored her girls.

She always got dressed up to greet my Grandpa at the door after work.

She believed “your hair is your crowning glory.”

She was funny.

She was tiny waisted until she became ill.

She kept the house very tidy.

and

… She would have been very proud of her daughters, of me and her great-grandchildren.

Ok I made the last one up, but I believe it.

I have to.

When it comes to parenting I am often chasing ghosts for advice, my mother, her mother – what did they do in this situation or that situation? I have now eclipsed the time period when my own mother was mothered.  I don’t know how she felt about growing up without her mother or about how she felt becoming a mother without her own mother around.

And I can’t ask her about it.

I don’t plan on my children having to wonder about this.

You see, I  am here to break the chain…

…to end this legacy of cancer and leaving too soon.

My Grandmother Irene, 6 months before she became terminally ill with ovarian cancer.

– Sara

In other news: we have a winner for the New Balance Lace Up For the Cure shoes!

Congratulations to  

Chris McNicholas!

I will contact you by email to get your shoe size and mailing address!!! 

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It’s hard for me to find the right words to thank you, but I will try.

You, my friends and family, have truly humbled me.

This year and every year, I’m motivated by breast cancer causes because I lost my own mother, Susan, eleven years ago to cancer.

She was 53, I was 26.  She was my mommy and my best friend. And I miss her EVERY day.

Mom and I

In January, I told you that I would be walking in my second Susan G. Komen 3-Day For the Cure 3-Day: 60 miles over three days to help raise funds and awareness for breast cancer. I would be walking with my team, Maidens for Mammograms and Margaritas made up of my beautiful sister-in-law, Victoria and my equally beautiful and amazing mother-in-law Susan, both of whom knew my mother well.

I would be walking because I don’t want anyone else to lose a mother, daughter, aunt, sister, or friend to this disease.

So I told you that I’m walking… and raising money.

In order to participate in the 3-Day, each walker is asked to raise a minimum of $2,300.  It’s A LOT of money.  But as a stretch goal, our team dedicated ourselves to raising a combined $10,000.  I’ll admit when I typed that goal in, I got nervous. It was a big commitment and I did not want to fall short.

And this is where I start to really get emotional.

Over the weekend, while updating my facebook status to tell you all about how close we were to our goal, the donations just started pouring in, and pouring in, and pouring in…  and before I knew it we reached our fundraising goal, in fact we surpassed it.

Big time.

So here’s where I feebly try to use words and characters to tell you how deeply grateful I am to you all for your incredible generosity and support.

It just doesn’t seem like enough.

So if I could rent a plane and write it in the sky above I would (but if I could, I’d probably rather donate that money to breast cancer research so scratch that) so I will instead say it here:

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!

I love you.

You have truly humbled me.

P.S.
To date our team is well above our $10,000 mark and the donations are still pouring in. In fact, if you still want to donate you can (here’s our team link).

We are still gathering names of loved ones that have fought breast cancer to add them to our team t-shirts. If you’d like to send us a name to include please email me.[button link=”mailto:[email protected]” type=”icon” icon=”mail” newwindow=”yes”] Email me[/button]

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I wait all summer long to make this one recipe. It was my mom’s, who 11 years ago I lost to cancer. I like to make this because it’s distinct flavors instantly transport me back to summer dinners on our back porch and I can hear the sound of her laughter.

This was one of her signature summer entertaining dishes. I often remember her getting this ready and then hearing her and her friends laughing on the back porch while they enjoyed this heavenly meal. I would always sneak a bowl before heading out with my own friends.

So when the tomatoes are juuuuust right, grab this recipe, uncork a bottle of white or make a margarita and enjoy.

It’s the end of the summer anyway so you can indulge, bikini season is over.

Ingredients for Susan's Penne with Basil, Brie and Summer Tomatoes

Susan’s Penne with Tomatoes and Basil

serves 4 to 6

• 4 large tomatoes – cut into 1/2 inch cubes
• 1 pound Brie cheese – rind removed, cut into irregular shapes
• 1 cup basil leaves – cut in strips
• 3 cloves garlic – minced (if large, use less)
• 1 to 2 TSP salt (your taste)
• fresh ground pepper
• 1 1/2 pound penne (or linguine)
• fresh grate Parmesan cheese (optional)

Combine tomatoes, Brie, basil, garlic, olive oil, salt & pepper in large bowl. Prepare about 2 hours before serving. Set aside at room temperature.

Boil pasta (salt & add 1 TSP olive oil) until al dente.

Drain pasta. Immediately toss with tomato-cheese mixture. Serve at once.

It’s possible this recipe came straight from Silver Palate cookbook – she often used that one. But I can’t be sure, just in case I’m going to credit it ias the source.

You can download my copy of the recipe (with my mom’s handwritten note) here: Susan’s Penne with Basil and Tomatoes Recipe

Bon appetit and happy summer!

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