Have you ever picked up, read, and put down upwards of 25 cards in your search for the perfect Birthday, Valentine’s Day, or Thank You card? Perhaps around card number 17, you rolled your eyes in irritation or cursed silently at the greeting card elves for failing to sum up the complexity of your emotions in a tidy sentence or two.

Last week, in between post-surgery naps, I hunted for the perfect card to send my Mom for her birthday today. I tossed aside options with rainbows, floral arrangements, and syrupy, ‘you’re the best Mom in the universe’ poems and then stared with disdain at the cartoon grannies with humorous messages about life on the other side of the hill. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find anything that would come close to conveying my awe at all that my Mom has endured over the past 18 months.

How would you handle it if you found out within a two-month period that both your husband of forty years and your 30-year-old daughter had cancer? What if you got the news of your daughter’s cancer while sitting beside your husband’s hospital bed after post-surgery complications almost killed him? Even though you knew your daughter had an army of support, how would it feel if you couldn’t fly to Vancouver for her first surgery or her first two chemotherapy treatments because your husband needed you during his grueling recovery?

I am not a mother or a wife, so I can’t begin to imagine how much frustration, anger, and worry my Mom must have felt during those months.

When I went home in early January of this year, my Dad and I congratulated each other on surviving our medical roller coaster rides and wished each other luck on the last leg of the journey. Mom shook her head at the odds that once again, we both had surgeries scheduled in two different cities, less than two weeks apart. At the airport before I left, she expressed her frustration that she couldn’t be in both places at the same time. I hugged her and reassured her that this time, everything would be different. The surgeries were both routine and we would all have reason to celebrate very soon.

Ten days after my Dad’s seemingly successful surgery, I went to my final yoga class to calm the butterflies about my own operation the next day. When I got home and returned a missed call from my Mom, her calm voice camouflaged the panic underneath as she told me that a doctor had just rushed my Dad into the O.R. for yet ANOTHER emergency surgery.

Instead of trying to comfort her, I hammered her with staccato questions in between my audible gasps for oxygen. How did she not crumble when she heard my sobs echo into the phone as I melted onto the hardwood floor and clutched at the fluffy white threads of my area rug for support? How did she find the strength to reassure me?

Three hours later, the surgeon still hadn’t called her with an update after what he had promised would be a two-hour surgery. I don’t know how she managed both her own fears as well as my text messages sent at ten-minute intervals over the next hour as I stalked her for updates.

With every passing moment, I imagined the worst. I thought about all of the things that I wished I had said to my Dad. I chastised myself for getting caught up in my own life and not investing more in my family. Why hadn’t I taken more time to tell both of my parents how much I love, appreciate, and respect them? How could I have already forgotten how fragile life is?

The phone rang at 10:30pm and the ball of fear congealing in my stomach hardened. I couldn’t concentrate on my Mom’s sentences but words like “stable”, “alive”, “going to see him now” broke through my consciousness as I sank onto the cool leather of my couch and hot tears of relief brimmed onto my cheeks.

The universe had once again grabbed me by the shoulders and given me a hard shake. I saw with intense clarity how important it is to tell the people in your life how much they mean to you, while you still have the chance.

So, here’s to you, Mom! Although I couldn’t find the perfect card to tell you, I hope you know how much your strength, love, and grace continues to inspire me. I can’t wait to see both you and Dad at the end of March so that the three of us can raise our glasses to life, health, and love. Happy Birthday.