This Wasn’t the Plan: My Mother and Her Silence

In part 4, the author reflects on her mother’s silent strength and unwavering love during her cancer journey, as she cared for her daughter while silently battling her own illness. Read part 3 here.

A mother is someone who carries the whole world in her heart, and my mother is no different. She loves me more than words can hold. During my hospital days, every time I had to get an injection, I would look into her eyes and see the pain she tried so hard to hide. She would smile gently and say, “Oh come on, it’s just a small injection,” but that small prick hurt her more than it ever hurt me.

While I was fighting for my life, she was quietly waging a war of her own. My mother wasn’t well either. She suffered from CKD — chronic kidney disease — but you would never hear her complain. She buried her pain deep within, always putting me and Papa first. Her body would ache, her legs swollen from the illness, and sometimes, she would faint in the kitchen. Yet the next moment, she would be up again, making food for us, ensuring our comfort, like nothing had happened.

She visited hospitals, managed my medicines, and took care of every little detail. She was our rock. I often asked her if I could help in any way, but she would smile and say, “No, no, everything is fine.” And every time she said that, a part of me would ache because I wanted to ease her burden, but I couldn’t. She never once spoke about her suffering, never let us see her weakness.

Her strength was not loud. It didn’t come with grand gestures or dramatic words. It came in silent sacrifices, quiet prayers, and love so fierce that even illness couldn’t shake it.

There are moments in life when you look around and realize how lucky you truly are.

I am one of those lucky ones—

Because I was born to parents who, even in pain, never let go of my hand.

Mumma and Papa were both fighting their own battles, quietly, silently.

And yet, their every breath was filled with love and care—for me.

People often say to me,

"You’re so strong."

But the truth is —

I am strong because my parents are strong.

They put my needs before theirs.

They stayed up in hospitals, skipped meals, and smiled through tears...

just to see me okay.

Mumma... I love you.

I don’t know how to thank you.

How do you say “thank you” to someone who

gave you her whole world?

But I’ll still try —

Thank you for being my strength.

Thank you for being the most powerful woman I know.

Thank you… for being you.

I love you, Mumma. Always and forever.

The People who Carried Me

There are times in life when the journey becomes too heavy, too painful. Times when walking even a single step feels impossible. And in those moments, you realize —

some people don’t just walk with you…

they stand for you, like a city stands tall through every storm.

For me, those people were my own.

Not a single day passed when I was truly alone.

Through every chemo session, every long hospital hour, every dark night that felt endless…

when sleep disappeared and only silent tears remained —

someone was always there. Always nearby.

My mother — my quiet warrior —

she stood behind me during every session,

watching me hide my pain while hiding hers too.

Even when her heart was breaking, she never let it show.

She smiled for me, so I could believe in better days.

And my father — my silent strength —

he didn’t need words to give me courage.

Just being there was enough. His presence was like a shield,

protecting me while he silently carried his own pain.

They both were fighting their own battles…

but never once let me feel the weight of mine alone.

There were moments when I felt like the world was slipping away from me — moments where pain was louder than hope. And yet, in those moments, my brother would try to make me smile. He didn’t always know what to say next. He wasn’t sure how to cheer me up or whether his words would even help. But he tried. He made an effort. And that was more than enough.

Around me were doctors who didn’t just treat me like another patient — they treated me like someone who mattered. A nurse became my friend, someone who knew when to quietly sit beside me or when to gently distract me from my pain. Even strangers, people I had never met before, whispered prayers for me. Their kindness — unexpected, silent, powerful — became a shield I didn’t know I needed.

In those days, there were people who stayed up with me. They would message me at midnight, call me just to talk, just to make sure I wasn’t alone. Some sent flowers to my home, with sweet messages like “Get well soon.” Others sent silly videos to make me laugh, or simply wrote, “You’re still the same Anu for us.”

The same Anu — with the bright smile, the soft heart, the one who never hesitated to speak her mind. To them, I was still that little girl. And even when I forgot who I was becoming, they reminded me of who I’d always been.

There were days when my legs refused to move. Days when I couldn’t walk — not physically, not emotionally. But even then, my loved ones held me, walked with me, carried me forward with their faith and belief in me. They didn’t let go. They didn’t let me fall.

And that’s when I realized something.

In your hardest moments, when everything feels like it’s crashing, just take a look around. You may not notice it at first, but someone is always watching over you, silently caring for you, praying for your healing. They might not always say the words — but their presence, their love, their constant efforts speak louder than anything else.

You are important. You matter. To more people than you even realize."

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to subscribe to CURE®’s newsletters here.