I often think of you as my guardian angel and that you can see me. You can see me driving a car fast like you begged me not to do so many times. You see me laughing. You see me with my friends. You see me making a tough decision, and having to be assertive. And when you see me and my brothers, you smile. It’s your big wide, gapped tooth smile. You smile and you put your head down, like I do when I smile. Sometimes with the smile you shake your head. You approve of what you see. You are pleased with us.
Do you know that January is Cervical Cancer Awareness month? Sometimes I really wish that I didn’t know that. I really wish that the day in 1992 when you told me that you had cervical cancer never happened. Your smile was not there. You were sitting in a chair in your bedroom and you told me that you had cervical cancer. When you said it, your eyes closed and you grabbed your hands together. At the time, to me it felt like you were confessing something. I was too young and naïve to understand that you were scared. You said that there was an 85% survival rate. Because I thought this was a confession, I was relaxed. I relaxed during the whole conversation. There was no way that you would die. My young, naïve mind said death happened to other peoples’ moms, not my mom. Besides, I thought to myself, there would be no point of your death. You were too much of a good person.
I remember in 1995 coming to see you in the hospital and I was still relaxed. My grandma was not. She pulled me into the hospital hallway and said that you were not going to get any better. In that moment, my heart went from the 8th floor of that hospital to laying on the ground on the street below. You were not supposed to die.
But in 1996 you did die. And I was left with a myriad of questions about the thing that took you from us. I did not hear many people talking about cervical cancer. What was HPV? How come you were not part of that 85% that lived?
In 2006, ten years after your death, I met a woman who explained all of this to me. Her name was Tamika and she was on a journey. She was racing to beat the clock to eradicate Cervical Cancer. When I learned about her journey, I saw Tamika and Friends as an army with soldiers. You always taught me to fight. I picked up my weapon and joined ranks with these cervical cancer soldiers. I was never going to let another woman get cervical cancer.
I have learned so much since you have been gone mom. I have learned about Henrietta Lacks, the different strands of HPV that cause cervical cancer, and how it is incredibly important to go to the gynecologist. And I have learned that sometimes bad things happen to good people. It is sad to admit this mom but your death has taught me just as much as your life.
Mom, I am faced with the cold fact that this year, you will have been out of my life for the same amount of time that you were in it. I hope that you see that the world has changed and that I have changed. You always taught me to help other women and I have been doing that. I once met a girl who was in a job training program. I was doing a group counseling session with her and other young women. We talked about ultimate life goals. The girl had been quiet for most of the group. When it was her turn to say what, she wanted most in the world, she replied, “I just want to make my mother proud.” I touched her hand and I said, “Me too.”
I cannot see you, but the thought that you are smiling at me motivates me on my darkest days. It makes me want to talk to people about cervical cancer, organize communities, be a better mental health provider and be a servant of the Lord. I do not know if you can really see me, but I have realized that I see you every time I do an act of kindness.
Hugs and kisses.
Your only daughter,
15 thoughts on “A letter to my mother 20 years after she died from Cervical Cancer”
That is the most touching letter I have every read in my life and your mother is very proud of you always love you my dear talented nicece go save the world you are my SHERO!!!! I AM HONORED TO BE YOUR AUNT!!!
Thank you Auntie.
May God continue to bless you, Lillian. This is a touching letter to your mother and yes, I see her in most of what you say and do. The beatiful smile the tone in your voice. I see it and just like you said in your letter , she sees it too. God bless you my dear friend/sister and keep spreading the word of how we can prevent cervical cancer. Get tested. It’s that simple.
Love you too Snib
I knew your mother Mary and she was a beautifully kind woman just like the woman she bore. I’m so proud of you Miss Lilly from North Philly and support you on your journey. Continue being a blessing to others.
Thank you Ms. Donna.
My Beautiful cousin, I am so proud of you and know Ms Walker is smiling down on you. Love u both sooo much!!
I am sorry I just saw this. You know I love you too and I would not be able to do what I do without your support.
This can’t be read without tears. We all miss her so much. Thank you Lillian for the light you carry from your mom to the world.
Love you too Auntie. I didn’t know that you read this. xoxox
Tears are flowing down my eyes..here I lay next to my mom who has nearly been diagnosed with this cancer and I feel lost, sad and broken. ?
fear of losing mom who has selflessly helped everyone around us is NOT fair. God is definitely not fair ?
Ron I am so sorry that this is happening to you.
What a wonderful memorial to your mother and beautifully written. You have grown into a beautiful, intelligent, humanitarian. Your Mom would be so proud of the forges you and your brothers have made into this deadly disease. Your awareness will help many now and in the future. Love you.??
Beautiful letter Lillian!
She sees and she’s proud!
I am sorry but I just saw this.