A Warm Happy Place

I did a post earlier this week about my trip to a CBS morning show. The tickets I got signed are in my scrapbook. There are a lot of treasures there. Today I’d like to tell you about another one of them.

In 1987, my Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. She had been a smoker from a very young age (12 or 13 if I recall) and quit in 1981 when she found out she was having a third child (little Joey Bean). Mom survived her cancer diagnosis and lived to 66, which is an absolute miracle and a testament to the power of brilliant doctors and positive thinking.

For a lot of years, everything that happened with Mom’s cancer diagnosis affected how I reacted to people who smoke. I was kind of a pill, to be honest. But I’ve curbed that reaction because I think everyone who smokes knows how harmful it is, and I know that nicotine is one of the most addictive substances on earth.

But seriously, if you smoke, please stop. There are people who love you and do not want to go through life without you.

Okay, moving on.

There came a time when Mom, accompanied by her sister Nancy, left to receive treatment at the Roswell Park Cancer Center in Buffalo, NY. During the time Mom was in Buffalo, Dad was still working on the road. So the Wentworth children spent many nights away from home. My brother and sister, then 11 and 6, stayed with our Aunt Di and Uncle Pete. I, at age 15, was going to a different school than my siblings… so I stayed with the Clippinger family in picturesque Smyrna, NY.

My Mom knew Scott and Judi Clippinger for years, and worked in the Clippinger Law Office for many years both before and after cancer treatment. (Scott set up a law office literally next door to our house so when Mom was ready to return to work she wouldn’t have to commute.)

So I stayed with the Clippingers and palled around with their son James, and hopefully I wasn’t too big a pest. (I’ve worked in the past with teenagers at the radio station and am acutely aware that the teenage brain is not fully formed.)

So this brings me to what I have to share with you. The day Mom and Aunt Nancy were leaving for Buffalo, I was ready to head out the door and Mom gave me a card and a book. This is the book:

This isn’t my copy. My copy is torn, tattered, faded, ragged, and worn. It’s a book I have read and enjoyed a great deal. (The “lost episodes” were a big thing back in 1987.) Mom had originally promised me this book as a reward for better grades. Instead she gave it to me that morning with the card. Here is her note to me:

Mom received radiation therapy that saved her life. What it also did was take away the use of her right arm and hand. She became an adopted leftie and learned to do all kinds of things with only one hand. This card is the last thing she wrote to me before that change happened. I have lots of postcards and letters she wrote in the years that followed, and in them I see her handwriting style but I also see the marks of a fighter.

“It always helps to share things with a friend.” So simple yet so fundamental.

For the first 43 years of my life Mom was the friend I shared things with most frequently. So many long phone calls about work issues, health issues, etc. Mom was also the first person I would think to call when I had good news. I still remember the calls to Mom and Dad when I was winning awards for my radio work. Calls from my travels, with Mom always reminding me to call them when I get home.

When Mom was sick and it became apparent she would not be getting better, “It always helps to share things with a friend” saved me from a complete mental breakdown. While the travel arrangements and updates on Mom’s condition were happening I still had to go into work, and be a good host on the air, and get through the day. My KCOW family, as I’ve said before, were incredibly supportive and kind.

I worry that I am writing about Mama Mary too much on the blog. But I do it anyway. Writing about her brings her back. The note does that too.