A few years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I cannot begin to imagine the internal battle she fought, since all she externalized was strength. She never complained, she was so positive and continued trying to do all of her usual activities.
I however, could not handle it. I ran away from it, being home as little as possible, because it hurt too much to see her so sick while I couldn’t do anything to make it better. I skipped most classes during my last year of high school and didn’t tell anyone about it. If I didn’t say it out loud, maybe it wasn’t real. I was a coward and still feel horribly guilty for not being there for her.
For years I couldn’t deal with it, even after she got better. I couldn’t say the “C word”, would leave the room if someone else mentioned it, I refused to watch movies or television shows if one of the characters was sick, I never talked to my family about it, I acted like it never happened. But I would have nightmares about me finding a lump in my breast, or worse, my mum getting sick again. I would wake up shaking and crying and unable to calm down.
I got really drunk one night this year, and something triggered me, breaking me down into a sobbing mess, huddled on the floor in the corner of the bathroom. But someone I love very much said one simple thing over and over: “She’s okay now.” And as silly as it may seem, that helped. It felt as if a weight that I hadn’t even been aware of, had been lifted.
A few weeks ago, I was watching a new show that I looooved, Jane The Virgin, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Jane’s mom got diagnosed with breast cancer. I immediately turned it off and decided not to watch it anymore. My boyfriend gently told me that we grow through facing our fears, but I refused to continue watching with him. A few days later, after having mulled it over, I decided it was something I needed to do alone. So I watched the next episode and the next and I cried and I laughed; and I realized that I didn’t want to be a coward anymore.
So I started a painting of a woman’s anatomy, slightly resembling that of a plant, whose chest is covered by a monarch butterfly. The placement represents the beauty left by a single or double mastectomy.
My decision in using the monarch butterfly has 2 polarized meanings behind it:
Firstly, monarch butterflies are toxic, which I thought to be an accurate portrayal of cancer.
But secondly, they are beautiful and see the colours of the world on a spectrum unknown to humans. This is the way I imagine my mother to be after having come out of such an awful situation an even more stunning woman who sees the world differently to others who haven’t experienced such things.
The word “monarch” can also describe the ruler of a kingdom, such as a queen, a term of endearment my father often uses, referring to himself and my mother as King and Queen.
The use of the monarch butterfly in this painting was further solidified by the inspiration I have always, but especially recently, felt from Halsey’s music which often depicts the butterfly.
As for the flower atop her head, I chose it partially because daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings and partially as a tribute to the fond memories I have of reading Rose Petal Place as a child with my mum.
Ultimately, butterflies and flowers represent endurance, growth, hope and life. My mother has endured so much and grown so gracefully through it all, showing me to live hopefully.
I would like to emphasize that I only focused on my side of the story, as hers is not mine to tell and the ache that I felt was nothing compared to what she went through.
And while these words and even these brushstrokes don’t do justice to the enormity of the feelings they depict or the admiration that I have for her, it feels good to finally share them.
Now I just have to convince her to get a matching monarch tattoo with me !