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Jacqueline Lapeyre
Prof. Debelius
HUMW 011
13 Dec. 2013
A Teaching Battle
There had already been two moms. Both had lost. Their families had lost too. The last
thing I would have thought is that I would see my own mother fight. It was Thanksgiving
morning and we had flown to Washington, DC the night before to celebrate with her family. My
mother called my brother’s cell phone asking us to come into her room next door in the hotel.
Silence filled the room as we entered, every footstep as loud as a boulder dropping from ten
stories above. Pierre and I glanced at each other. Though we have our quarrels, we always had
some kind of sibling connection and knew just what the other was thinking: “This cannot be
good. When is someone ever not teasing or telling a joke in our family?”
I could hear the deep sigh developing in my mother before she spoke, “You just need to
know that everything will be fine. I am OK.” Being sixteen at the time, I immediately assumed
the worst…I was right. “It was caught very early,” she continued. For some reason, I could not
bring myself to look at my mom as she spoke. I stared at the white comforter of the bed in front
of me, hoping to get lost in the simple purity of it and drown out everything I heard. She spoke
some more, but I cannot remember it all; just the solemn, mellow tone that was intended to
soothe, but instead stirred the knots of anxiety and confusion building within me. I felt tears, but
we have never been the crying type of family, so I swallowed hard as I washed them away.
I had noticed that my mom had been visiting several doctors the past few weeks,
accompanied by my father, but I never asked about it, as it appeared to be a private matter.
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However, when private matters become family knowledge, something has to be wrong. Glancing
at my brother sitting across from me, I had never seen such a look of concern or worry on his
face. He was tough, and I had always looked up to him for that. I felt my heartbeat quicken even
more. I still had not spoken as my mom looked at me and continued, “It will all be okay. We ran
some tests and it is not hereditary.” I felt my sternum rise and a fluttering breath barely escaped.
I muttered, “Are you going to be OK?” Embracing me in a hug, my mother promised everything
would be fine. “It will be OK,” I told myself, not really believing it.
For about a week, life seemed to carry on in its normal routine: get up, go to school, go to
tennis, come home, eat mom’s dinner, and go to bed. No one spoke much about the diagnosis
again. I heard whispers in the kitchen coming from my parents and brother; clearly they still
considered me too young to handle this adversity. I knew what it was, I understood everything
would be fine, but I was still left out of the details. Then I understood why: the surgery and
doctor’s appointments multiplied. News of more tumors arrived. Three in total- all caught
relatively early.
I saw the toll it took on my family. My dad began arriving home from work earlier to be
with my mom at the hospital, and my brother and I catered to my mom’s needs while she rested.
Throughout it all, I still could not accept the fact; I just refused to tell myself, “My mom has
cancer.” You hear about cancer on the news, sometimes it is for fund raising, other times its
about experiments or research. Somehow, though, you never think about it potentially affecting
you, interrupting and penetrating all aspects of your life.
But that day came. A week after my mother began chemotherapy, the depth of the dire
notion that my family had been accosted with breast cancer became a reality. I sat in the back of
first period history, next to my best friend, the only one aware of my mother’s condition. Ten
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minutes into class, I broke down. I am not one to show much emotion publicly or outwardly cry,
but this was an exception. Isabella patted my back and asked me if I wanted to leave. I remained
silent with my head down. I passed a note: “This morning my mother had her hair cut off.”
Sometimes it is hard to believe things that you cannot physically see. I could not deny the blatant
baldness of her once beautiful crown.
Over the course of several months of chemotherapy, my mom showed very promising
signs. The tumors had been removed and there were no traces of cancer left in her body. Having
already had enough surprises to last a lifetime, I was stunned one day in January when I was
pulled out of class after receiving a note saying, “Your mother is downstairs and would like to
see you.” I instantly knew what it was. For over a year, my godmother had been fighting cancer.
She had survived breast cancer, but was now dying of colon cancer. We had known the time was
close; it had been hard watching her deteriorate while my mother was fighting her own cancer.
Some things never seem to come to end. The day after my godmother’s funeral I returned to
school. Something about history does not seem to sit well with me anymore. While learning
about the American Revolution, our teacher projected a song on the board for us all to sing. Two
lines in: “We will bury them all, deep, deep, deep down.” I closed my books. I walked out.
Now, two years later, with the image of my godmother, Susan, etched vividly into my
mind, I am happy to say my mother is completely healthy. No doubt, cancer is a scary experience.
It is difficult to say, but my mother’s cancer may have a positive side effect. Great and extended
pain, both physically and emotionally contribute to immense personal growth. Throughout high
school, work was the most important thing to me. I was never late. I never missed a class. I never
skipped a night of studying. Sometimes I became overwhelmed to the point of tears, physically
unable to continue work, which only caused me more stress. Both of my parents modeled a
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strong work ethic and personal strength. This was the way we did things in my family. I
observed, and I learned.
The progression of events through my mother’s illness taught me the importance of
rationality, resilience, and maturity. The ability of my family to keep a strong, calm face during a
difficult time was a powerful example for me to follow, and their actions bolstered my ability to
remain calm in the face of adversity. I forced myself to try to think rationally. At times, the most
rational thought was to simply deny the issue. Sometimes we just need to protect ourselves, but
this can lead me to break down emotionally at a time when my situation feels the most
vulnerable- the most daunting thought of all. However, over time, I have come to learn this is not
the best way to handle difficult situations. I thought I was mature enough to be told everything
that was happening, but my family did not seem to agree. I wanted to show them that I could be
just as involved and as helpful. From a personal standpoint, my mother’s story, her illness, her
strength and the character she demonstrated through her ordeal taught me much not only about
her, but also about myself. I am aware of these crucial life lessons now that I am older and have
the maturity to analyze those disheartening days. It is often said that good things can result from
bad. In this instance, the good is that my mother helped me grow more then she probably knows.
Now that I am at Georgetown and looking back, I have seen myself demonstrate an
understanding of these critical lessons. My first night of classes, I felt like I was crumbling under
mounds of never ending reading. However, with the past two years, I have learned to look at a
situation rationally and resiliently if my resolve feels threatened; it is the proper way to force
myself to look for a new prospective. The experience of my mother’s illness educated me as a
learner about life and as a learner in the classroom. I have been able to demonstrate a new level
of maturity when I have a problem to solve. My demeanor is the calm, strong, resilience my
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mother embodies. Especially at Georgetown, I have noticed that my teachers strive to encourage
us to share our own thoughts and opinions, providing me with an opportunity to show my ability
to think rationally and critically while presenting myself in an academic manner. I know we all
strive to have others see us the way we see ourselves, and this will never be fully possible, but as
I continue to study in the business school, it is critical for me to continue to carry myself with an
air of professionalism, maturity, strength, and of course, amicability.
Textbooks, flash cards, and vocabulary lists from high school are just one form of
education. They teach me the substance of what I will share with others and use in my career, but
they do not demonstrate how to share this knowledge in the most efficient and effective way. My
mother has taught me the importance of carrying oneself with strength, but it is still okay to be
scared (and even scared), and allow yourself to be vulnerable when there is a need. A dear family
friend once told me, “When do we really learn and change as a result of that learning? When we
can synthesize a ‘rich chunk of life;’ when we have the opportunity to share an [experience] and
when we make information our own.” Education, for me, is something that occurs everyday,
beyond the classroom setting. Education is about applying what you have learned to your life in
a useful manner. The most valuable forms of learning are those that are concrete experiences that
enable you to gain a new perspective on life and make you aware of your own growth.