We held on tightly to hope and the promise of “When she gets her strength back, we’ll go to Coronado and celebrate with a glass of Prosecco. We would toast with a resounding, “Cent’anni!!” which is Italian for “May you live 100 years.” Unfortunately, that day never came. On September 12, 2009, my Mom lost her brave and ferocious battle with breast cancer, gracefully and peacefully, surrounded by her family.
Every Friday, I drove my Mom to chemo, she wasn’t well enough to drive herself. Inevitably, she would hoist her diminutive self up into my SUV while balancing a tray of homemade oat bran muffins, her massive Mary Poppins-like Coach purse, and goody bags filled with thoughtfully curated tchotchkes for the Nurses. We called her the “Bag Lady” because she never showed up empty-handed. She was other-centered amidst her illness. Her mottos were, “Leave it better than you found it,” and “If you have two, give one away.” She and my Dad, her rock for 55 years, instilled that credo into her five daughters and flock of grandchildren, “La Famiglia.”
She was tiny and mighty, topping out at 4’11” and 100 pounds. When we questioned her about her treatment choices, she would quote William H. Macy’s line from the movie ‘Fargo’, “It’s my deal, Wade, it’s MY deal…” As to imply, “Leave me the hell alone, I know what I’m doing.” There are many in my family that claim to be members of an esteemed group known as, “Doctors Without Diplomas.” It hasn’t always served us and mostly provided us with misinformation and anxiety.
On “Rowdy Fridays” I’d grab Mom, then truck the Chemo Carpool on over to Jackie’s (Mom wouldn’t let her drive herself, since she, too, had breast cancer). “The Chemo Lounge” was filled with oncology patients and their loved ones, sitting side by side in their Lazy Boys, passing muffins, and trading war stories. We all became “Chemosabes” — faithful friends in each other’s journeys. For me, it was Church. My Mom never said, “Why me?” She said, “Why not me?” as she tucked her laminated prayer to St. Jude back into the billfold of her wallet. She had faith and gratitude always.
Two weeks after she passed, I felt drawn to go back to the Chemo Lounge because Dolores was there, Norma was there, Elvis was there, Mary was there … all the people with whom I had connected and grown to love. Slowly, I began to bake something, and found myself stuffing goodie bags, becoming the “Bag Lady” or “The Cookie Fairy.”
In October 2010, Chemo Companions became an Arizona nonprofit, 501-C3. With the generosity and support from friends, family, and the East Valley Women’s League, it was no longer a one-woman show. In fifteen years, we have visited with countless patients and their families during treatment, given away thousands of Chemo Comfort goodie bags, and shipped many around the world.
We have been able to donate thousands of dollars worth of gas/grocery cards to patients who struggle after losing their jobs due to a cancer diagnosis. We adopt families over the holidays and provide mountains of gifts and essentials hoping to bring some much-needed cheer. We are now offering free supportive classes: Sound Therapy, Art, Yoga, and Mindfulness Meditation to patients at any point of their cancer journey. We are only scratching the surface.
I have had the privilege of attending funerals, baby showers, and even weddings of many patients, whom I consider family. I feel blessed and humbled daily. I want to thank my Mother for being a selfless badass who loved life! She made it her mission to make anyone in her presence feel special, loved, and seen. It is bittersweet and I miss her dearly. I feel blessed and humbled by my family and friends who lift me up and encourage this mission. To the selfless donors who give time, money, and in-kind swag for the Chemo Comfort bags, you rock!
I will continue to lead this charge, giving it my all, and invite you to volunteer or donate, no matter how small, it truly makes a difference.
And above all, Kindness Wins.
Alyssa D. Dinowitz