By Emma Carr
I was 16 and had just gotten home from school the day my mom told us that she had breast cancer. “I don’t want this to be a big moment in your life. I’m going to beat this and it’ll be over,” she repeated.
Norma Jean Carr, my mother, raised seven children. I am the second youngest. Growing up, my father wasn’t around much because of his work. He was in the military and for many years lived in another country or city. This was hard on my mom, though I believe my dad was doing the best he could to provide for the family.
At times it felt like my mom was raising us alone . And we weren’t an easy bunch. Eventually when we were all in school my mom became a special education teacher. She loved her students like they were her own… possibly more.
Anytime she came back from the grocery store with something we wanted to eat right away she would snap, “Don’t touch! Those are for my kids,” refering not to her biological children, but the kids in her classroom.
As the years went on, she changed professions and went back to school at UT Austin for her master’s and then for her doctorate in reading development for the mentally challenged.
She insisted that once she earned her doctorate we were all to call her, Dr. Carr.
She never received her doctorate, though finished with her course work. She had only her dissertation to complete when the cancer spread to her brain and her health rapidly declined.
My dad took great care of her but still had to leave to fulfill long days of work. My oldest brother became her primary caregiver. I would come over nearly everyday to spend time with her, talking and joking with her, laying with her, and when she became too sick to feed herself, I’d feed her. She was incredibly fragile by this time and spent a majority of her days in bed. It was hard for her to form sentences.
One day, a close friend of hers stopped by to see her.
“What are we going to do? What are we going to do?” I overheard my mother asking her friend desperately. There was fear in her voice; she knew she was losing her battle. It was a moment I’ll never forget. I was shattered, there was nothing I could do but watch cancer steal my mom away.
Norma Jean Carr died roughly a week before my 20th birthday.
My mom was a tough one, but loving. She was the smartest person I knew and incredibly funny. She was a die-hard Spurs and Longhorns fan, and she raised some great kids. I think she’d be proud to see us all now… despite the fact that I went to an A&M school. Sorry mom!
This Halloween would have been her 60th birthday.
As a child, I didn’t go to the doctor much, unless there was something really wrong. Other than that we were just a family that toughed it out. I don’t know how often my mom got mammograms; she never talked about or mentioned it. The one that revealed she had breast cancer was likely her first. Her cancer was stage four when it was detected, the highest stage of breast cancer.
Catching breast cancer in the early stages is crucial to saving lives.
I wish I had told my mom to get checked everyday. Every day is a chance for you to remind the ones you love to get checked. Every day is a chance to save a life.
