“Where’s my niece? I want to see my niece!” my sister’s fuzzy voice announced from the other side of the screen. My family and I were sitting in my messy and crowded living room after eating Thanksgiving Dinner, and took advantage of the pre-tryptophan break to video chat with my sister, who is in Japan. As is common with drastic time zones, we kept playing phone tag the days before and ended up calling Jazmyn at work.

“Hi Jazzy,” I waved at the screen holding her new niece up so they could meet for the first time. We were all smiles and full of joy, not realizing how quickly things would turn.

Thanksgiving 2018 was a day I had long awaited. The moment my mom found out I was pregnant she started making plans to return to Spain. She first visited us in June with my dad, aunts and cousin when I was 20weeks pregnant, where they got to meet Lavender via ultrasound. My mom was determined to be there to meet her granddaughter and she recruited her mom, my Granny, to come along for her first international trip. They arrived the week after I gave birth, which gave Chris and me a chance to adjust to life with a newborn and included the extra bonus of having family in town for holiday. We were tired and bewildered new parents and while I didn’t know what to expect while hosting visitors after giving birth, I knew I was going to eat well with my Granny and mom in town.

On Thanksgiving Eve, we went to the commissary for some last minute grocery shopping where my mom and Granny acted like kids in the toy store, hopping from aisle to aisle, ooing and ahhing and grabbing all sorts of snacks. My granny was so mesmerized by a giant ham-hock (schweinhaxe) that she just knew she couldn’t leave it alone, so it came with us to season the greens and such.

That next day, over a busy kitchen, Chris, and granny talked about culinary things while my mom and I took turns cuddling with Lavi. Dinner was served and within a matter of minutes, plates were empty as we all maintained our “clean plate society” status.

At some point that night, one of us called my sister and considered ourselves lucky that she answered since she usually can’t talk on the job. I don’t remember much about what we discussed in the first few moments of the call. She might have commented on who Lavi resembled or asked us what it was like to have her in our arms. We might have asked her what she ate during her first Thanksgiving in Japan. Whatever the case, those little pleasantries would soon fade.

“Well girls, well ya’ll,” my Granny started, her expression a little serious and less “Thanksgiving-like (read: warm and contemplative), “your mother has something she would like to tell you.” I paused, immediately noticing the heaviness that took up the room and feeling a little confused. My sister, still talking, wasn’t aware of what was going on. “Hold on Jazz,”I looked between my mom and Granny. I didn’t know what to expect. A number of thoughts swirled through my head. Within seconds, my thoughts ping ponged between a pregnancy announcement, divorce, bankruptcy. The mood and the tone of the announcement were so heavy and abrupt that I couldn’t imagine good news.

I looked at my mom and, I kid you not, I don’t remember her announcing that she had breast cancer in that moment. I mean, I know she did, because my face contorted and I started as if I wasn’t looking at my mom but someone else. I wish I could describe what went through my head. I just remember my sister saying, “wait what? Who has cancer?” followed by a long silence and me repeating the news to her all while looking at my mom in disbelief. A vacuum had sucked the life out of the room.

Thanksgiving is on the 28th this year but my mother’s announcement fell on November 22nd. So a whole year has passed since my mom and grandmother sat in my living room to tell us what no mother wants to have to announce and no child wants to hear.

The love of a mother is tremendous. Months prior to her announcement, my mom mentioned feeling a lump in her breast, but left it at that. I held onto that kernel of information, but chose not to inquire in subsequent conversations. Maybe it was fear, though I think it was this thing where I opted to let my mom tell me what she wanted me to know. “No news is good news right?” My mom later told me that she was glad that I didn’t probe because she knew about her diagnoses for months and didn’t want to talk about it. She chose not to tell me while I was pregnant because she didn’t want me to worry or put our baby at risk for any pre-term issues as I carried that burden of truth. She wanted to tell my sister and me at the exact same time so that we heard it from her and not from one another. She refrained from sharing it with other family because of the risk of it leaking on social media and she didn’t want anyone to find out via social media before she could tell them herself and how she wanted. Shortly after her announcement, I thought back to a few earlier phone conversations between her and my dad. “Did you tell them yet?” he would ask, before she’d take him off speaker and explain that she hadn’t yet. He was with family in New York and wanted to know if my mom had told my sister and I so that he could proceed with sharing on his end.

This past year has been a blur for so many reasons, but I kept telling myself that the timing of Lavender’s birth was a welcome distraction from the reality of my mom’s health.

She underwent the treatment trifecta, as I call it, (mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiation) and is doing well.

When Lavender and I went to the U.S. for the first time, we were able to celebrate her final chemo treatment and I got to meet her medical team and even sat with her in the chemo bay. My mama, the incredible person that she is, organized a “Think Pink” event at her school where she’s a reading specialist. During that time, she invited her colleagues to share their survival stories or talk about living and deceased family members who battled breast cancer. She held a “Rock your Hats and Scarves,” fundraiser to encourage people to wear hats or scarves in honor of people who, like her, lost their hair during cancer treatment. Her fundraiser generated over $5,000 for Breastcancer.org and she was featured on the Ft. Belvoir Hospital magazine for her campaign. She’s still going strong and coming up on one year of her surgery, the first in a long road of treatments for her diagnosis.

She’s so inspiring that I haven't really had time to become depressed, worry or cry about it all. Don’t get it twisted, the news snatched my breath out of my body, I’ve had my sad days and I still remember how I felt the moment she announced her diagnosis. But in that moment, I experienced a serious spiritual peace, like the warmth of flames or maybe even like dancing embers. I knew she would be ok and that God was in control. It’s amazing how The Almighty works and to be honest, maybe that’s why I knew a peace unlike any I would have expected. Shortly after my mom and granny returned to the states, I reached out to my network to solicit prayer. God works in mysterious ways because my sister-friend, the same friend, who helped me over the phone while I was in labor, replied, “It’s funny because I was about to ask you to pray for my mom for the same reason.” Both of our moms, brilliant educators with a heart for their communities and families had been struck by this disease and were embarking on their treatment paths roughly at the same time. My friend and I would text each other to check in with one another and share our frustrations and concerns. We’d swaps stories about treatment options, the bitterness we felt about our moms’ Breast Cancer (BC) journey and how helpless we felt at times.

Both of us have younger sisters and talked about what it was like to go through this as a family and not just as daughters or health scientists (she a nurse midwife, me a public health researcher). I thank God for that bond as we navigated the waters of being a support to our mothers.

Years prior to my mom’s announcement, another amazing and dear family member received a breast cancer diagnosis. On a rainy Seattle evening heading home from work, my dad told me that my Aunt Ann, his youngest sister, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I immediately burst into tears, not caring who saw or how I looked. I was on the phone with my dad, shocked, sad, upset.

“Why are you crying?” he asked. I was pissed and confused, #perturbed. No, but really, who asks why a person is crying after that type of news? I could barely answer him, and before I could he told me, “Don’t call her up crying. She doesn’t need you to call her crying so when you call to talk with her, make sure you’ve gotten all those tears out because we need to be strong for her.” I understood what he was saying, and though still sad, decided to suck it up and try to be upbeat when I called. So in that very moment, when my mom shared her diagnosis and my sister broke down sobbing on the other end, I went numb. It was as if a tsunami was on a fast track to my tear ducts but it instantaneously receded. Or a wall dropped between my emotions and reality, preventing the inevitable avalanche. “She needs you to be strong. Jazmyn needs you to be strong. Lavender needs you to be strong.” So I was strong, taking cues from my mom, who is even stronger.

My daughter, Lavender, has been like the healing calm in the midst of this storm. Her smiles, laughter, development and personality helped my family through this ordeal. Focusing on being a parent while also hosting guests, squeezing in final travel adventures and preparing to move back to the U.S. has also helped to take my mind off the reality of the verdict. And ultimately, prayer and conviction in the faithfulness of The Almighty have been mighty helpful..

So, I’m thankful and continue to be grateful. And on Thursdays, the day when I found out she had cancer, the days when she’d receive treatment, I try to wear pink.

On Thursday, we wear pink