It was just another ordinary afternoon in August when my whole world shifted. I was buzzing from work to pick up my little ones from school, as I always did, when my phone rang. Seeing my mom’s name light up my screen was no surprise — we chat from the moment I wake up until my head hits the pillow. I often joke that she knows my routines better than I do!
But when I heard her voice this time, I instantly sensed something was off. Instead of our usual cheerful banter, she cut right to the chase: “We have a little bump in the road.” A pit formed in my stomach.
“They found something on my annual mammogram,” she said calmly. I could feel her strength through the phone, but disbelief washed over me. Breast cancer? In our family? It felt surreal, almost like it was happening to someone else. Yet, true to her nature, my mom was trying to console me, assuring me it was “no big deal” and that she was in good hands. I believed her, but all I could do was pull over into a parking lot and cry. This was no longer just her story — it was ours. She would not be fighting this alone.
At that very moment, life came to a screeching halt. I was so distracted planning my son’s first birthday party, squeezing in last-minute summer adventures, and juggling work and playdates. But suddenly, nothing else mattered. All the success, travel, and money in the world mean nothing if you don’t have your health. Our priorities shifted instantly; making sure my mom was okay became my sole focus. There was no other option in my book.
Reflecting on it now, I’m so grateful she went in for that routine mammogram like she’s done every single summer. The follow-up MRI revealed a second lump, and doctors praised her vigilance in keeping up with her annual checkups. By being proactive, she literally saved her own life. Thankfully, the breast cancer was treatable with surgery and radiation, and she’s still taking medication to keep it at bay for the next few years.
The emotional toll of this journey was something I never fully grasped until we faced it together. My mom kept her diagnosis close to her chest for as long as possible, processing it quietly with my dad before sharing the news with my brother and me, and then the entire family (and there’s a lot of us; you should see the group text!). That’s what she says was the hardest part — telling the family. When I learned she’d known for a while, I felt upset. How could she keep something so monumental from me? But that’s just Mama Rautenkranz. She’s always been the caretaker, shielding us from burdens to protect our peace and happiness. This time, though, it was her turn to lean on us.
The resilience my mom showed throughout the entire process was awe-inspiring. After her lumpectomy in September, she was back in the classroom within a week, teaching full-time and cherishing every moment she could with her grandbabies. She made it very clear: Cancer wasn’t going to define her or slow her down.
As the radiation treatments began, we found ways to lift her spirits. Each day, my little ones and I wrote a positive quote on an index card, snapped a picture, and sent it to her before each appointment, counting down to the finish line. At the end of treatment, she proudly rang the bell, and we gifted her a scrapbook filled with those messages. It wasn’t just for her; it was for all of us — a reminder that even in the hardest moments, we could choose joy over fear.
As moms, we pour so much love into our families, often forgetting we need care, too. This experience has reshaped my perspective on life. Cherish every day even more than you think you already do, soak in the sunshine, and hug your loved ones a little tighter. I’m committed to getting my own mammograms and MRIs, not to ever expect any bad news, but out of care for my family. Life throws the occasional curveball, but with preparation and the support of our village, we can face anything.
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is the importance of having a support system. Cancer can be terrifying and unpredictable, but you don’t have to face it alone. Family, friends, and even small gestures of kindness can carry you through. Whether it’s a thoughtful text or a scrapbook of encouragement, these moments really do matter and make a world of difference.
Mom, you are my hero. You didn’t just survive — you thrived and continue to thrive. Breast cancer messed with the wrong mama, and our family rallied right beside you. Watching you fight through tough days with such grace, determination, and strength has inspired me (and so many others!) beyond words. You’ve shown me what it means to be a real-life superwoman and how positivity can prevail.
This chapter will forever be part of our family’s story, and that’s okay. It serves as a reminder to care for ourselves and each other. We’re not looking back; we’re moving forward, stronger than ever. And we’ll stay vigilant, not just for ourselves but for our loved ones. Early detection saves lives, and life is too precious to leave it up to chance.
I love you so much, Mama Rautenkranz. You are truly unstoppable. We’ve got this — and we always will.
