The Murderer In My Family

Written by Brooke-Lauren Montgomery

            In the spring of 1991, my dad’s world came crashing down when he was told that his mother had been murdered. Murdered by a ruthless, uncaring serial killer that isn’t even worthy of a name. Her life was slowly drained from her as she put up the fight to live—to win. And when she took her last breath, that is exactly what she did—she won.

My grandmother wasn’t just any grandmother. She was someone that I want to be. From all the stories I’ve heard and from what everyone in my family has said about her, she was a very laid back person. Very kind, dependable, trustworthy, always thought of others before herself. She would never talk bad about anybody, even if the person of subject was outrageously ugly to family members or other people. And, when others would be gossiping away about a certain individual in front of my grandma, she would keep her mouth shut. She was a very family oriented person—loved her husband, her two sons, and all four of her grandchildren with her heart and soul…two others which would be born a few years after her death...but God was number one in her life, above all else. She was the kind of woman that I want to be, because she didn’t just “talk the talk”; she actually “walked the walk”, and that is something I believe is worth emulating.

Cancer. It has been the killer of many loved ones all over the world, the killer of several of mine, and is in the process of taking another. Like every serial killer, it has its stages. You have the “newbies” that are just starting out and then you have the ones that get more aggressive with practice…and then you have the worst ones of all—the pros that are stealthy enough to slink by undetected, and as a result, gain their victim, their latest prize. It’s just another trophy on the shelf for the bastards…so they think. However, there are five stages of cancer that exist on a scale. Livestrong.com thoroughly gives those five stages:

Stage 0 cancer is the most treatable cancer form. In this stage, abnormal cells are detectable in the top layer of cells that’s in the affected part of the body. This form of cancer is frequently referred to as Carcinoma in Situ. That means that abnormal cells are located only at the spot from which they originated.  An example would be: Stage 0 breast cancer means abnormal cells are detectable only in the cells that line the breast duct or lobules.

Stage 1 Cancer can be formed when abnormal cells clump together and begin penetrating beneath the top layer of cells in the organ it originated. This cancer stage describes cancer that is small and present only in the organ it originated from. These characteristics make stage 1 cancer typically very treatable. It has a high cure rate in most cancer patients.

Stage 2 cancer occurs when cancerous cells begin to grow into a small tumor in the organ of which it originated. Usually, at this stage, it has not spread to other parts of the body, such as tissues, the liver, etc. In some people, cancerous cells that spread into nearby lymph nodes might be considered as stage 2 cancer.

Stage 3 cancer is when the cancerous tumor continues to grow, giving it a fine opportunity to spread into the lymph nodes and surrounding tissues.

Stage 4 cancer develops when cancer cells spread from their original point to another organ in the body. This stage of cancer is also referred to as Metastatic, or secondary cancer, and is the most advanced form of cancer. It is often most difficult to treat.

The cancer that stole my grandmother’s body was Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Lymphoma is cancer that originates in the lymphatic system. In Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, tumors form from lymphocytes. Lymphocytes are a type of white blood cell. Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma is more common than other general type of lymphoma, which is Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. The cancer was at stage 2 when the doctors found it.

<<Grandmommy with her four grandkids: (Left) Michelle, (Bottom) Preston, (Right) Me, (Far Right) Melody

Around the early 1990’s, doctors were working on a new process by spinning off the patient’s T-Cells from their own body, to kill the cancerous cells. They would then transplant the patient’s good T-Cells back into their body so that they could attack any leftover cancerous ones. My grandmother’s doctors were hopeful that doing the bone marrow transplant would work, so they tried it. While they took her bone marrow and sent it off to the lab, they put her through chemo and radiation treatments. Once the bone marrow came back clear of cancerous cells, they put it back into her body to let it do its work. Things began looking up for her and our family. This delicate process was working, and it continued to work for about six months, until her blood platelets began to go out of whack and her body rejected the transplant. It had come back with a maddening vengeance. My grandmother, at just fifty-one years old, was slowly dying.

The chemo and radiation treatments made her violently sick, and it completely zapped her of all energy. Her gorgeous, curly black hair that once sat at shoulder length began to fall out, and was replaced with a short, black wig. And through it all, her aching pain and weary being, she still kept smiling. The only worse pain for my dad, my grandpa, and the rest of the family to see her withering away, was the day she left. It took two long, grueling years until she finally succumbed to this disease. No amounts of, “she’s in a better place” could take away the debilitating pain of losing her. My dad took it hard, worse than hard, and he spiraled into major depression. It was hard on my mom, and hard on his two and a half year old little girl.

Me at Grandmommy's gravesite
Some may not believe that a child so young could remember any of it, but I beg to differ. It’s extremely difficult to not remember seeing my daddy sit up on the edge of my parents’ bed, crying, and unable to sleep, stand as I ask, “What’s wrong, Daddy?”, as he then picks me up and carries me into the hallway to come face to face with a large picture on the wall of my grandmother—smiling—shining from the inside out, despite the disease that was consuming her body. My dad, choked up, as tears were streaming down his face, points to the picture and asks me, “Do you know who this lady is?” Before I could say anything, he said, “That’s my mom,” and he continued to sob. I cannot even express how much sorrow I felt for him, seeing him torn in half. I can recall many memories from that time, memories that are so far back that it was before I knew that “drinking” didn’t mean drinking water.

 

Dad with my sister Brianne(left) and me on the right with blonde hair 2011

 

So, not only did cancer kill my grandmother, but it was claiming my dad by dragging him into the deepest pit of misery and chaining him to a wall. He carried his depression until I was eight years old. It was December 29, 1999. He’d finally had enough—tired of battling the sunken cloud, tired of checking out from life…tired of being tired. While the grandkids were off playing in a room in a different part of the house, my great grandmother and the rest of our family gathered around my dad, laid hands on him, and prayed for God to take his depression. And that’s exactly what He did. Those six years of my dad’s chronic depression was excruciating for him and hard on my mother and me, but God brought us through it.

<<My daddy when he was little

Ten years later, the same murderer came knocking on my mother’s door. Breast cancer—it’s a cancer that originates from breast tissue, usually from the inner lining of the milk ducts or the lobules that supply the milk in the ducts. Livestrong.com informs that cancers originating from ducts are called ductal carcinomas. Cancer that originates from lobules are known as lobular carcinomas. Even though a large portion of females get breast cancer, it is possible for males to get it, too.

I was eighteen at the time, a senior in high school with everything to look forward to, when I found out my mother had the case of which the pink ribbon represents. I opened up my phone and saw a text from my mother that said, “The doctors said I do have cancer, but it is only stage one. They will have to do a mastectomy, but at least they caught it before it had time to spread.” My heart sank as I sat in the chair at chapel, her text repeating over and over in my head like a broken record that I just wanted to snatch up and break in half with my knee. Then came the questions that whirled around in my mind like an F5 tornado. What’s going through her mind? How is Dad taking it? Will he go into depression again if she did die? Does Brianne know yet? Have they told Grandma and Grandpa? What if they didn’t catch it early enough even though they think they did? It was enough to drive a completely sane person crazy. She was at stage 1 cancer because she had half of a centimeter that was starting to spread, and seven and a half centimeters (in situ) that had not spread.

My mother at college graduation

My mother, only forty-eight at the time, was not afraid of dying, but afraid of leaving us behind and not knowing if we would be alright without her. The answer is a flat-out “no”. No, we most certainly wouldn’t be okay. My sister and I will have lost a best friend, and my dad will have lost two very important women in his life. It only took a couple of weeks for them to get my mom into surgery. She did not have to have chemo or radiation before or after the mastectomy on March 27, 2009. The doctors used fat from her stomach to rebuild the breast she had to have removed, and they gave her a “tummy tuck” because they had to use one of her stomach muscles to wrap around the newly made breast to help secure it in place. This is called a Tram Flap Procedure. They can also do that same procedure from a person’s back. It was scary to see my mom in such a vulnerable state. She had lost a lot of weight from not eating very much. The surgery itself completely wiped her out and caused her to be extremely exhausted. She had to walk very slow and hunched over due to being in excruciating pain in her abdominal area.

My mom and dad <3

After she had found out that she had cancer, she went to my grandparent’s land in East Texas to relax in the woods and enjoy peace and solitude from the city noise. I couldn’t go, and neither could my sister due to school. My dad stayed with us so we wouldn’t be alone. One of the most painful things I’ve had to experience was being at home without Mom there. It was too quiet, too empty, and too depressing. While she was out of town, I kept unwillingly imagining what it would be like if she never came home, if she never again sat in her chair in the living room watching Everybody Loves Raymond, bustled around in the kitchen, reminded us not to forget our homework, or kissed and hugged us goodbye every morning with the departing words, “I love you”. And, I just couldn’t handle it, and I broke down.

Mom and me at Red River 2010

A person never knows what a beautiful thing they have until they lose it, or come close to losing it. Call it luck or good karma, or whatever you may, but as for me, it was God that brought her through and that she is alive and well today, one-hundred percent cancer free. And now, in 2013, the same cancer that couldn’t claim my mom, is attempting to take a good friend of our family and church. She was in remission from breast cancer for a short while before it came back. She has been through chemo treatment after chemo treatment and radiation treatment after radiation treatment, but this serial killer will not give up. A few weeks ago, the cancer spread to her lymph nodes, and she also recently had several small strokes. The doctors believe it is now in her brain. Her family is completely broken, the church is broken for her and her family, and we are broken for them.

Cancer: C-A-N-C-E-R. A small word with a huge impact. It is sad to watch someone we love begin to wither away under cancer’s violent grasp. It’s heartbreaking to see family members distraught as they can only sit next to the bed of the soul that’s somehow still holding on. Sallow cheeks, pale skin, no hair that once fell delicately around a beautiful face. But, in a way, death from cancer could be considered good. Cancer feeds on human life until the soul leaves the body and there is nothing left but a shell. It reminds me of a hermit crab. Over time, a hermit crab is forced out of its temporary home. He leaves behind a shell and has gone on to a new home. So do we—leave behind a shell once death has forced us out of our temporary home, and we are carried to our new, permanent home that’s much bigger and much better. In the end, cancer didn’t win. It may have had the claim over my grandmother’s body, and it may have the claim over my friend’s body, but cancer can never have the soul. This is how my grandmother won—she took her last breath on November 29, 1993.