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My father, a Holocaust survivor, always reminded me to look for the silver lining. Even though he\u2019s been gone for 37 years, I still feel him over my shoulder, whispering those words, especially in life\u2019s darkest moments. At the time, I didn\u2019t realize how often I\u2019d need that wisdom.<\/p>\n
In 2001, when I was 47 and just one month before the World Trade Centers fell, I was diagnosed with DCIS, an early form of breast cancer. It was the beginning of a chapter I could never have imagined. <\/p>\n
My then 18-year-old eldest daughter had just finished a drug rehabilitation program in Utah, and I was healing from the emotional impact of that experience. I never imagined that I\u2019d fully recover from the nine months she was under lockdown.<\/p>\n
When we visited, she begged us to come home, and I\u2019d have to turn around, walk away through the glass door and head to the airport back to Florida\u2014my pockets filled with damp tissues. Those were some of the hardest months of my life. I shed more tears than I thought humanly possible, yet I kept going. <\/p>\n
As I\u2019d done many times before, I turned to my journal to hold what felt too heavy to carry alone. I poured my emotions onto the page, just as I had at the age of 10 when my grandmother and caretaker, who inspired the writer in me, took her life in my childhood home.<\/p>\n
Already a published writer for decades, and the mother of three children, I knew that writing was my way through. When my oncologist called, I was seated on the sofa in my office in the midst of uncontrollable weeping. \u201cHow could this be happening to me, and why now?\u201d <\/p>\n
I was barely recovered from my daughter\u2019s experience, and now this? How much was one person meant to endure? There was no cancer in my family, and I had the prescribed annual mammograms. That year, however, my mammogram showed what looked like a fleck of baby powder on my right breast, an early sign of cancer.<\/p>\n
My husband and I were living a joyful life on a lake in Florida with our three children, boating on the weekends. With my eldest daughter home from rehab, we were once again united as a family.<\/p>\n
My middle daughter (16 at the time) passed my office, saw me crying and came to sit beside me. She asked why I was crying. After some hesitation, my husband explained in the simplest way he could. \u201cYour mom has breast cancer.\u201d <\/p>\n
She gave me a big squeeze, the kind that says everything that words can\u2019t. She hesitated for a few moments, and wisely said, \u201cMom, I see a book in this.\u201d<\/p>\n
Like my father, she also knew how to look for the silver lining\u2014even in that moment.<\/p>\n
The next few months were filled with tests and surgery, resulting in a mastectomy and reconstruction\u2014one of the most frightening experiences of my life. The breasts that nurtured my three children were forever changed. It was so difficult to fathom, and yet I had no choice but to face it. <\/p>\n
I carried my journal everywhere, so jotting down notes about my experiences came naturally. Like most writers, I had no idea where the words would lead. At the time, I was doing my best to live one moment at a time.<\/p>\n One of the highlights of the memoir genre is reflection, and the best way to write a memoir is to look back on an experience from your current stance.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/figure>\n While recovering from my surgery, some colleagues suggested I write a book about my experience to help others navigate similar journeys. As a memoir writer and teacher, I already knew that one of the highlights of the memoir genre is reflection, and the best way to write a memoir is to look back on an experience from your current stance. <\/p>\n It\u2019s the art-of-reflection part that I believe makes the story compelling. Once again, my writing guided me: steady, patient, and always there when I needed it most.<\/p>\n I told my daughter and colleagues that I just wanted to get through the journey and put it behind me. I didn\u2019t want to relive everything about my cancer journey by writing a book about it. I didn\u2019t want sympathy. I just wanted respect and love. I wanted the cancer experience to be something I moved through, not something that defined me.<\/p>\n About eight years later, though, I decided to write a book. This time, I was ready. <\/p>\n I flipped open my journals and highlighted salient sections. I came up with writing prompts at the end of each chapter to help others chronicle their own journeys. In the end, my journal entries evolved into a self-help memoir called Healing With Words: My Breast Cancer Journey<\/em>.<\/p>\n When you\u2019re going through challenging times, it\u2019s easy to forget the small but meaningful moments. Writing helps preserve them, and in many ways, helps heal them.<\/p>\n Five years after my first breast cancer diagnosis, I was diagnosed with smoldering myeloma, a type of bone marrow cancer. Because I had no apparent symptoms other than elevated blood proteins, I didn\u2019t immediately need treatment, but I had to have quarterly blood work done. <\/p>\n Fifteen years later, I had my second bout of breast cancer, but this time it was more aggressive. I had to begin serious chemotherapy and radiation, and undergo another mastectomy and reconstruction. Once again, I turned to writing, my constant companion through uncertainty. I believe the stress of this second breast cancer story resulted in my multiple myeloma becoming active.<\/p>\n Most memoir writers write because they\u2019re called to write, but often they write to find out what they don\u2019t know. I wanted to know why I\u2019d faced three cancers in 25 years, and what I was meant to learn from them.<\/p>\n During the COVID-19 pandemic, a hummingbird visited me every day\u2014a small, persistent miracle. This inspired me to write Hummingbird: Messages to My Grandmother<\/em>. I asked her for help with understanding and dealing with all my cancers, and she guided me, offering comfort in ways I can\u2019t explain. Our connection was even more profound than it was 50 years earlier.<\/p>\n I\u2019m grateful to have inherited the writing gene from my grandmother, and even more grateful that it has carried me through my life\u2019s darkest moments.<\/p>\n I\u2019m also grateful to my father for teaching me that everything has a silver lining and to accentuate the positive over the negative, even when it feels impossible. This helps me wake up each morning with hope, grounded in gratitude, ready to continue forward\u2014despite all the curveballs life has tossed my way. <\/p>\n And no matter what comes next, I\u2019ll keep looking for the silver lining.<\/p>\n \u00abRELATED READ\u00bb<\/strong>\u00a0WRITING FOR OUR LIVES: 6 meaningful reasons to express yourself with words\u00bb<\/strong><\/p>\n image: photosforyou<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My father, a Holocaust survivor, always reminded me to look for the silver lining. 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Ready to write about my journey<\/h2>\n
\nComfort from my late grandmother<\/h2>\n
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