Twenty years ago, I buried my mother. I was 15.
She suffered an ugly fight with colo-rectal cancer.
She lost.
She spent her 51 years eating poorly, not exercising (due to numerous back and neck injuries) and smoking. In fact, I honestly don't remember my mother ever "feeling good." In the last twenty years, I've learned more about the things that led to her cancer. Some would argue that you can't prevent cancer - its genetic or predisposed. I call bullshit.
I don't smoke (okay, so I may have one cigar a year when the mood strikes me). I've also made a conscientious effort to change the way I eat. I struggle, but I'm SO much better off than I was a year ago. I've also begun exercising..and not in that wimpy I'm-too-busy-to-really-do-much-so-I'll-just-mall-walk-and-pretend-to-break-a-sweat way. I bust my ass regularly at the gym. My heart rate races. I sweat. I hurt. I ache afterward.
Why?
Because I don't want my children to have to be at my funeral instead of their third period math class.
I will NOT orphan my children. I will not make them watch me get sick. I refuse to leave them wondering what they could've done differently like I did when my mother got sick. I won't put that burden on them. And I know I don't have to. I'm making healthier choices every day to ensure their childhood won't include a hospital bed in their living room or hearing the words "we lost her."
So when somebody says, "Aww, take a day off. You've worked hard enough," I want you to understand why I can't.
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