Cancer: A Catalyst for Cherished Moments, Treasured Memories

In 2001, my Aunt Patsy was diagnosed with synovial sarcoma, one of the rarest cancers affecting soft tissue. At the age of seven, I was too young to understand the consequences of a terminal illness. I was oblivious to how this diagnosis would influence the next three years of my life.

The cancer existed as a looming cloud of uncertainty. Patsy was given only one year to live. Suddenly time became very precious. Thanks to my youth, I didn’t notice the approaching storm. My lens was focused on the laughter and joy of countless family memories, the memories that shaped my childhood.

I grew up on a farm in northwest Iowa, where flat land stretches for miles and miles as far as the eye can see. To the south I could spot the outline of a dark blue silo, peeking out from behind a distant tree line. The silo was my compass for identifying Patsy’s house. She lived on a farm just a few fields away with my Uncle Fred, and my older cousins, David and Kristin.

Fun and Games

I always wanted to play at Aunt Patsy’s. I could recite the digits of her phone number before I ever learned to dial the number to my own home. My younger brother, Jack, and I spent much of our childhood growing up alongside our cousins. We formed an inseparable team, a fantastic four. Despite our age differences, we played together like a band of brothers and sisters. The equal ratio of girls to boys provided the perfect dynamic.

Throughout the summer months, we drenched each other during impromptu squirt gun fights and let our soaked clothes drip dry in the country breeze. We found the best hiding places on Aunt Patsy’s farm for games of capture the flag and hide-and-go-seek.

We were the masters of adventure and devised many excursions to the nearby creek. Our bicycles functioned as our favorite method of transportation. We often raced down the gravel road and narrow grassy pathway that led us to our destination.

At the creek bottom, we explored the wooded trails and stumbled upon white-tailed fawns concealed by the brush. Aunt Patsy served as our guide. On special occasions, she packed us our lunch, and we picnicked on the concrete culvert. At other times she supervised as we immersed ourselves in the shallow waters to escape the summer heat. The creek was our sanctuary.

The cold winter months drew us in to Aunt Patsy’s basement where we built blanket forts and channeled our wild imaginations for games of make-believe. We even produced and starred in our own original melodramas, transforming the upstairs living room into our stage.

We never let the snowfall stop us from playing outdoors. One of our favorite winter activities included sledding down the steep hill not far from Patsy’s driveway. After hours of slipping and sliding along the frozen white summit, we convened around her kitchen table and sipped hot chocolate, our cheeks still rosy from the chill of Iowa’s winter.

Beyond Iowa’s Borders

The memories extended beyond Iowa’s borders. In 2002, one year after Patsy’s confirmed diagnosis, our families retreated to Tampa Bay, Florida, for a vacation getaway. My brother and I experienced our first flight in a commercial airliner and we felt the sand between our toes as the Atlantic’s tide swirled across the shore.

Later in life I would learn Patsy almost didn’t make the trip because of her illness. I never noticed her discomfort or exhaustion. My memories consisted of two happy families enjoying the Florida sunshine. I celebrated my eighth birthday during the trip. I had no clue the clock was ticking.

Treasured family moments continued to fill my childhood as we made a second trip in 2002 to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. This time we set out in my parent’s fifth wheel camper. I’ll never forget our late summer road trip, telling ghost stories around the campfire and crowding all eight family members into the camper at night. My young age prevented me from foreshadowing cancer’s inconvenient truth.

By 2003, the cancer that originated in Patsy’s knee metastasized to one of her kidneys. A third family trip was scheduled in Rochester, Minnesota, but this time we were not leaving for vacation. The surgery was successful and the infected kidney was removed. Although my memories from this trip were sparse, I recalled walking through the pristine hallways of Mayo Clinic and watching the events of the 2003 Superbowl unfold from Patsy’s hospital room.

The following year, the severity of Patsy’s cancer was revealed. A brain tumor, nearly the size of a grapefruit, had formed. Patsy endured another surgery to remove the swelling growth. The results appeared promising until malignant cells were detected a short eight weeks later.

Saying Goodbye

On June 28, 2004, Patsy’s battle with cancer ended. Death was a difficult concept for me to grasp at the fragile age of nine. I didn’t fully comprehend the breadth of the situation. I was too young to clearly identify cancer’s warning signs.

Thanks to my childhood, my memories of Patsy didn’t revolve around her surgeries or her pain. I only remembered the good times, the stories, the smiles and the laughter. My family grew closer through the planned trips and additional time we spent together, but it never seemed as if we were accounting for an inevitable outcome. In my eyes we were living a normal, cheerful life.

At my Aunt Patsy’s wake I was brave enough to share a vivid story I still recall to this day. Patsy’s role in the story explained how I remembered her as a fun loving aunt, not a cancer victim.

A Treasured Memory

The “Cousins Café” was an imaginary restaurant Kristin and I created in Patsy’s living room. Complete with a play kitchen, we decorated our establishment with hand drawn signs and carefully arranged our merchandise.

Playing along with our scheme, Patsy entered our café, traded pleasantries and made a pretend purchase with her real purse in hand. After thanking us for our hospitality, she disappeared behind the sliding doors. Kristin and I continued our imaginary game.

A short while later, a masked figure burst into the room. There stood Aunt Patsy in a red ski mask, holding a toy pistol.

“Give me all your loot,” the familiar robber shouted. “This is a stick-up!”

Taken by complete surprise, Kristin and I grabbed our fake Barbie phone and dashed to the bathroom where we locked ourselves in to dial 911. We screamed and giggled with glee. It was Aunt Patsy’s antics that made our pretend café exciting and memorable.

Although cancer had taken my Aunt Patsy from me, it could never erase the precious memories that were made. The three short years from diagnosis to death were packed full of fun and adventure, the most memorable times of my childhood. Looking back, I can truly see cancer was the catalyst for the cherished moments and treasured memories I will always hold dear to me heart. Thanks for the memories, Aunt Patsy.