12/02/2025
Meant to share this yesterday, but the day slipped away…
Yesterday, 11/30/25, marked my 5-year cancerversary — five years since the call from my P*P and those four life-altering words: “Yes Angela, it’s cancer.”
That was the day I officially received my diagnosis of Grade 3+ Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, ER/PR-, HER2+ with lymph node involvement.
It was the day I had to tell my parents, my son, and the people I love most while pretending to be brave so they wouldn’t fall apart.
It was the day all my suspicions were confirmed and my world tilted in a way I may never fully forget. At 45, I didn’t know if I would live to see 46.
Even though I sensed it was breast cancer — the symptoms, the reactions from my P*P, the mammogram report the day before Thanksgiving — I kept quiet so my family could have one last “normal” holiday before cancer took over our conversations, our energy, our routines, everything.
This past week has been an emotional roller coaster. The anniversaries of the mammogram, ultrasound, and biopsies hit hard. The old fear, the PTSD, the memories… they all showed up.
And on top of that, we faced our first Thanksgiving without my mom.
My dad cooked like he always does, but the house felt different — heavier. I slept most of the day because the weight of it all just drained me. Being in the kitchen without her sitting at the table, peeling potatoes with a cigarette in hand and keeping us all in line… it was like a punch to the chest.
At one point I walked in and saw my dad peeling potatoes, switching between that and stirring the cream of corn — her dish — and I had to slip back to my room so he wouldn’t see me cry.
People say grief softens with time, but right now it feels like the opposite. The first holiday season without her is hitting harder than I ever imagined. She was my best friend, and there are days it feels like my heart is walking around with a bruise on it.
I know she wouldn’t want me to be this sad… but nothing is the same without her here. And yes — I still carry guilt for not being able to save her that day.
But this Thanksgiving, while reflecting on everything I’ve endured and survived, I was also deeply thankful. Thankful that I’m still here. Thankful that I kicked cancer’s butt. Thankful that my mom was here long enough to see me win that battle. And as much as it hurts not having her here, I’m thankful she’s no longer suffering.
I miss you, Mom. I hope I’m making you proud every single day. 💗
