26 Years Later
Kristen Radcliffe and her mother, Sandra
Still Coping, Still Loving, Still Her Daughter
by Kristen Winn Radcliffe
In the July/August 2000 issue of Coping with Cancer magazine, I wrote about my mother being in remission for two years from non-Hodgkin lymphoma.
At 17, watching my mother battle cancer was devastating. Cancer introduced me to a fear that most teenagers should not have to understand—the possibility of losing a parent. I remember the uncertainty, the helplessness, and how desperately I wanted my mother to survive.
At that age, I could never have imagined the story I would be writing more than 26 years later… The mother and daughter who had once been so close would then spend more than 15 years barely speaking.
An Unexpected Turn
Life is complicated, and so are families. Circumstances occurred that caused my mother and me to go our separate ways.
We lived more than 750 miles apart. There were hurts, disagreements, and circumstances that created a distance we did not know how to overcome.
About five years ago, I cautiously began communicating with her again. We did not suddenly become the mother and daughter we had once been.
Still, she was my mother, and I cared. I knew she continued to struggle medically, and as her health problems became more serious, one thought began haunting me: What if something happens to her and I don’t know?
Even more difficult was the thought: What if she dies alone and I never had the chance to see her again?
No matter what had happened between us, I knew I could never forgive myself if my mother died alone in Florida.
Holding onto the past may have protected me from being hurt again, but I began realizing that it could also create a different kind of hurt—one I might never be able to undo.
A Decision I Never Expected to Make
In July 2024, my mother’s roommate became ill and eventually passed away. She was suddenly facing not only grief but the possibility of having nowhere to live.
She was already dealing with significant medical problems, living on a limited disability income, and finding affordable housing was nearly impossible.
With the encouragement of my daughters, I packed my mother up, brought her back to Tennessee, and helped her find housing.
I would like to say I made that decision without hesitation, but that would not be true. I was afraid that allowing my mother back into my life meant opening myself up to being hurt again.
After so many years apart, rebuilding a relationship meant becoming vulnerable again. But there was something I feared more than being hurt. I feared regretting what I had not done.
I knew I could never knowingly leave my sick mother homeless and uncared for. So, I took the chance, and I am incredibly thankful that I did.
Choosing the Time We Have Left
Since returning to Tennessee, my mother has endured numerous medical procedures and surgeries, most recently a double mastectomy with the removal of several lymph nodes.
Would she have found some way to handle all of this if she were still alone in Florida? Probably. My mother has survived a great deal in her life. But as her daughter, I decided she should not have to do it alone.
More than 26 years ago, I wrote something that I understand even more deeply today: You never know which moment may be your last.
Over these past two years, I have watched my mother reconnect with the family she left behind. I believe she returned to Tennessee hoping to rebuild relationships—not only with me, but with her sister, her children, and her grandchildren.
I have spent time with my mother that I once feared I would never have again. I have been there through appointments, surgeries, recoveries, fears, and ordinary days. Those ordinary days may ultimately be some of the ones I treasure most.
Cancer Came Into My Life Again
Now I have faced my own cancer scares, including melanoma and precancerous breast cells. Suddenly, I understood illness not only as a daughter watching her mother suffer, but as a patient experiencing it herself.
During those moments, I could not imagine going through them completely alone. I realized even more strongly that I did not want that for my mother.
Perhaps that is one of the greatest lessons age has taught me: forgiveness does not mean pretending something never happened. Sometimes forgiveness simply means deciding that yesterday will not be allowed to steal tomorrow.
The 17-Year-Old Girl Is Still Here
More than 26 years ago, I wrote something that I understand even more deeply today: You never know which moment may be your last.
I understood those words through the eyes of a frightened daughter who was terrified cancer might take her mother. Today, I understand them through the eyes of a wife, a mother, a daughter, and someone who has faced her own cancer scares.
The teenager who wrote that article still resides within me. She still loves her mother and fears losing her. But there is one important difference. That girl was afraid of what she might lose. The woman I am today has learned to be grateful for what she still has.
I do not know how much time my mother and I have together. None of us are promised another year, another month, another week, or even another tomorrow, but I intend to be the best daughter I can be each day.
When the day eventually comes that I have to say goodbye, I know it will hurt in a way I cannot yet comprehend. And when that day eventually comes, a piece of my heart will go with her.
But I will also have something I almost lost forever. I will have memories and these years we were given back.
Cancer has now taught me to not wait until someone is gone to decide what mattered more—the hurt you were holding onto or the person you were holding it against.
The moments we are given with the people we love should never be taken for granted. Whatever lies ahead, my mother will not face anything alone. I plan to be there until the end.
Kristen Winn Radcliffe is a melanoma survivor living in Tennessee.
