Broken Beauty Read online

  The dressing room door was wide open as Ginny handed Mom the blouse, and before we knew it, Mom was lifting up her shirt.

  “Mom! Close the door! You never change in front of people. I don’t think I’ve even seen you in your bra more than a few times my entire life.”

  Breathing loudly as she pulled the shirt over her head, Mom said, “Huh? I don’t care. It’s just you and Ginny. I don’t care if y’all see me in my bra.”

  I was shocked. Since when did you not care that someone saw you in your bra? That’s weird. You’re the most modest person I know.

  “Here, Sarah, help me zip this. I think it has a zipper in the back.”

  Mom put on the shirt and sure enough, it was fabulous. Ginny yelled and whistled, “Woo-hoo! I told you it would be striking on you.”

  Mom laughed. “Oh, Ginny. You’re just staying that. Here, help me take this thing off.”

  And again, Mom pulled the shirt over her head with the door wide open for all to see. Oh my gosh, Mom! Stop changing in front of us. What is up?

  I bought a few fun tops that day, but the main thing I left the store with was the thought of repeatedly seeing my mom in her bra. That was ten times more than I had ever seen her breasts, bra, and stomach in my life, and though Beauty did look pretty darn good for her age, it was still odd.

  DAD AND THE KIDS RETURNED from fishing, bringing fresh catfish to grill for dinner.

  I said to the girls, “All right—y’all go shower, and scrub hard to get that nasty fish smell off. I want you all cleaned up for dinner. I’ll help Pop.”

  Mom and Ginny were drinking coffee in the living room while Dad and I went outside to cook.

  Casually, I said, “Hey, Dad, has Mom been acting a little strange to you or messing up her numbers?”

  He flipped the fish on the grill. “Well, yes. Strange not so much, but numbers, yes. I’ve noticed it lately. Why?”

  “Remember that time she went makeup shopping with Kelly? She thought $1,500 was $150. I didn’t think too much of it then. But Ginny told me today she’s concerned that Mom doesn’t seem right. She says Mom forgot the gate code to the Houstonian.”

  Dad immediately turned to me. “She forgot the gate code?”

  “Yes, Dad. She completely forgot. And not just for a moment. It never came to her, and they had to get the security guard to let them in.”

  He didn’t move. I could tell he was deep in thought as the catfish sizzled on the grill. “We go there all the time, Sarah. The gate code hasn’t changed in more than a year.”

  “Well, you may want to talk to Ginny about it because she seems very bothered by some of Mom’s behavior. Ginny said she was ‘different.’”

  We both grew quiet, staring at the catfish.

  “Daddy, do you think Mom has a brain tumor?”

  “I don’t know. One thing I do know is that I don’t know how I will get her to a doctor,” he said.

  “I’m so worried now. Her arm tingles, she can’t tie bows on Christmas gifts, she gets her numbers jumbled, and have you seen her try to write her name lately?”

  Dad nodded his head. “Yeah, sweetie. I have. Her penmanship used to be so pretty, and now she can barely write in cursive. It takes her so long to write that it’s just quicker if I write it for her. I think she knows something is wrong. But I don’t know what to do.”

  I put my arm around his back. “I really want you to try to get her to a doctor. If it’s a tumor, perhaps she can have it removed. If she waits and it grows, it can kill her. We need to convince her to see a neurologist. We need to know what we are dealing with.”

  He smiled and tried to cover up his worry. “Don’t worry about Mom. You have enough on your plate with those three children. I’ll take care of her. Try not to think about it and just focus on your family.”

  No, I can’t. That’s impossible.

  “Dad, you and Mom are my family. I will take care of Thad and the kids, but I also want to help take care of Pop and Beauty. That’s life, isn’t it? You raise us, then the seasons change, and we help you. It’s the cycle of life.”

  THREE

  THE DIAGNOSIS

  November 2012

  AFEW YEARS WENT BY, AND Mom still refused to see a doctor. My dad, my brothers, and I watched Mom slowly worsen. Things were not right. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but she was different somehow.

  We took a trip to Mexico that summer for her birthday, and although it was one of the best trips I’d taken, there were times when Mom was delayed with her speech or didn’t laugh when something was obviously funny. Her reactions slowed, as if she were in her own world.

  She also couldn’t sign the guest book in the home where we were staying. As she held the pen, Mom signaled Dad over.

  “David, come here. Can you sign this for us? I don’t know what to write.”

  Without hesitation, Dad took the pen and signed.

  Mom always knew exactly what to write. She was the queen of long emails, and she could be quite the talker—she never seemed to run out of words.

  Mom not knowing what to write was a signal to me of just how drastically things were changing. I knew in my heart something was wrong, so I scrutinized every little thing she said or did during the entire trip.

  When we returned to Houston, my parents’ friends Jan and Nyal hosted all of us at a dinner as a token of appreciation of our including them on the trip and to recap all of the fun.

  When we were leaving, Jan pulled me aside.

  She looked me in the eyes with love and concern. “I am worried about your mom. Have y’all noticed anything or seen a doctor? Her mind just doesn’t seem right to me.”

  My heart skipped a few beats and my stomach turned. “Dad and I both think something is wrong, but he can’t convince her to see a doctor. I think Mom has a brain tumor. She’s had tingling in her arm for several years, and she says and does things that are out of character. She confuses her numbers, so I think there is something going on in her brain. I’m really scared.”

  Jan squeezed my arm. “Honey, I know you are. Is there anything I can say or do to convince her to see someone? I know your mom. She is stubborn, and I don’t know if it’s out of line for me to express concerns for her health. I don’t want her to get mad at me.”

  I smiled and rolled my eyes in agreement. “She’s one tough cookie, that’s for sure. I don’t know how to answer that, but I know she won’t listen to Dad or me. Maybe it will take a good friend to let her know it’s more obvious than she realizes. She thinks she is covering it up, but it’s showing more and more every day. Please say something. And if you do, please let me know what she says. Call me in Dallas anytime.”

  She hugged me. “Of course I will, sweetie. You know how much we love your mom and dad. Nyal’s mom had a brain disease, so we are more sensitive when we see things like this, and that’s why we’re concerned.”

  The car ride back to my parents’ house was long and despairing for me. Mom and Dad were laughing about how funny Nyal was and already planning their next Cabo trip. I, on the other hand, felt nauseated.

  Mom turned around in the front seat. “Wasn’t that great, Sarah? I’m so happy you’ve gotten to know our ‘newer’ close friends! We have so much fun with them.”

  “I had a great time, Mom. I can tell they love being with you and Dad,” I replied with a fake smile.

  At the same time, I was thinking, You should listen to Jan when she expresses her concern for your health.

  I prayed silently. Lord, please help Jan get Mom to a doctor. What will it take, God? We need answers. I can’t live in fear for my mom’s health anymore. I need You to reveal the unknown, please. I’m begging You, God. You know what is really going on, so please bring it to light.

  When I prayed that prayer, I didn’t realize the answer I was seeking would turn my world upside down.

  A LITTLE MORE THAN A month later, Dad called shortly after I tucked the kids in bed.

  “I have good news. Mom has an appointment with a
neurologist next Monday. Whether or not she’ll actually go, I’m not sure. But she has an appointment.”

  I let out a huge sigh. “I am so relieved, Daddy. Can I go? I would love to be there.”

  “You would need to ask your mom. She is hesitant as it is, so I’m not sure if she will want you there. I can call you with the results or any news.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, nor could I settle for that.

  “No, Dad. I want to come. If Mom will let me, I am there. No questions asked.”

  “Well, if you think it’s okay with Thad, and if the kids will be fine without you, then of course I would love for you to be here. But it’s ultimately not up to me.”

  “Can I call Mom and tell her you told me about her appointment and see how she reacts before I ask if I can come?”

  He hesitated. “Sure. That’s fine. I don’t care anymore. She knows we are concerned for her and that we have asked her for a long time to see somebody.”

  “I’ll be praying that she makes it to her appointment and that you have the strength to encourage her and give her the words she needs to hear. I’m proud of you, Dad—we need to know what’s going on.”

  I immediately dialed Mom.

  “Hey, Beauty! How about them ’Horns? Did you and Pop watch the game?”

  She was in a great mood after the University of Texas football win, which was to my advantage. “Oh yes,” she said. “Amazing game! Do you miss cheering?”

  “I do, Mom. Those were some of the best years of my life.” I smiled as we reminisced over the phone but I knew I had to push Mom out of her comfort zone with this conversation—just as she’d pushed me out of mine when she encouraged me to try out for college cheerleading all those years before.

  “Mom, I’m calling because Dad told me you finally scheduled a doctor’s appointment. Way to go!”

  I made it light and slightly sarcastic so she wouldn’t get defensive. She grew quiet. “I don’t think I really need to, and I am going only for your father.”

  I didn’t care who, what, where, when, or how she got there, even if she let me know it was only to satisfy Dad.

  “Okay, Mom. I wanted to see if I can come. I would love to come in for the weekend and go to the appointment Monday morning with you two.”

  “I don’t think so, honey. You don’t need to be there. I can tell you right now they are going to say there is something wrong with me so they can put me on medication. So there is your diagnosis!”

  I took a deep breath and decided not to take the bait, as my husband would say.

  “Maybe that medication can help you, Mom. Just be open-minded, okay? And please, please let me come. Besides, I will be without the kids, so it would give us a lot of mother-daughter time.”

  I knew Mom craved that time as much as I did. It was rare for us to have that anymore with toddlers running around.

  “Okay, love,” she said at last. “But you can’t come into the doctor’s room. You will need to wait outside, so I don’t see the point in you coming. But you can come if you really want to.”

  I sighed with relief as I hung up the phone and replayed the conversation in my mind. I thought to myself, She doesn’t want me in the doctor’s office because if she gets a bad diagnosis, she won’t tell me. She’ll keep it a secret and pretend she’s okay. I’ll stay in the waiting room. I’ll know by the look on her face when she walks out if there’s something serious.

  ON MONDAY MORNING, MOM WOKE me up earlier than I expected. The sun was shining through the window, and I could feel the heat and the dreaded Houston humidity.

  “Honey, wake up. I want to talk to you.”

  I stretched my arms, “What is it?” I asked.

  She played gently with my hair.

  “Well, you won’t like this and you’ll probably be upset with me, but I don’t want you coming with us today to the doctor. I just want to be with Daddy and for us to be alone.”

  I couldn’t move. I lay there dumbfounded that she would actually tell me I couldn’t go to the doctor. Why does she always have to hide things? She’s so frustrating!

  “Mom, please. I understand you want to be with Dad, and you will be, in the doctor’s office. Remember, I’m sitting in the waiting room. I won’t be with y’all when you see the doctor. I just want to know what he says and be there for you to tell me in person. You are so dang stubborn.”

  She kept playing with my hair, staring at me as if she might change her mind, but she didn’t.

  “I know. I am a pain, aren’t I? And it means the world to me that you want to be there. I just need to be with your father, though. I promise to call you after the appointment and let you know what the doctor says, although I know I’m fine. Really. I’m going to be fine.”

  I turned my back to her, rolling into a fetal position. She walked out and shut the door. Tears rolled down my face.

  Why doesn’t she trust me? Why is everything a secret? Why can’t I help? I want to be there for Dad, too. I can’t stand Mom sometimes. Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa, for raising a stubborn pain in the butt.

  DRIVING BACK THE 250 MILES to Dallas, all I could do was pray and beg God for answers. It seemed like such a long drive, and when I stopped for gas and called Thad, I started crying. I told him I was halfway home, but all I wanted was to be with my parents and hug them both.

  Thad reminded me there was a reason for everything.

  “Honey, I’m sorry you are disappointed. At least you got time with them over the weekend. Quite frankly, I am not surprised. I love Beauty, but she can be difficult, and you need to not take it so personally.”

  I couldn’t speak on my end of the phone. I had a knot in my throat and tears were rolling down my face.

  “Honey,” Thad said, “are you there?”

  My voice quivered. “Yes, I’m here. I’m just sad and worried for Mom. I’m scared for her and miss my parents so much. I’ve begged them to move to Dallas and prayed they would for years, and all they do is drive around and look at houses and get my hopes up, and then they don’t move!”

  I cried even harder as my emotions collided: fear, anxiety, love for my parents, worry for Mom’s health, the realization she was too young to be sick. I thought of her jumping up and down with our kids, dancing with Dad, and the way she loved to entertain and bring people together. The thought of her dying was awful.

  “Thad, what if she has cancer? Or a brain tumor? What if she dies? I can’t even imagine—”

  Thad cut me off.

  “Honey, please. You are jumping to conclusions and listening to the lies of the enemy. He wants you to think and believe all of those things, especially in a state of sadness. Focus on the good, Sarah. God loves your mom so much. He loves her more than you do! She’s His child, after all. You need to focus on His promises and remember that, even through the bad times, He still loves her and us.”

  Thad went on, “He never said there would not be pain and suffering, and the enemy would love nothing more than to bring you into a state of despair right now.”

  I sat there with my mascara smeared underneath my eyes.

  “Let me ask you this,” Thad said. “What would your mom say right now? Her faith is so strong. Don’t you think she would agree with everything I have just said?”

  My racing heart slowed, and the tears began to dry up. I could breathe again. I knew Thad was right.

  I longed to be a part of Mom’s receiving the diagnosis. But that didn’t mean it was my place to be there. Not only was my dad with her, but God was with her.

  At times, I felt like she trusted Him so much that she was naïve or impractical in her thinking, but I realized she simply had childlike faith. She trusted in God, and she believed He would carry her through the good and the bad, that He would shepherd her and take care of her. She knew He would never forsake her or leave her—just as young children trust in and depend on their parents wholeheartedly, unconditionally.

  Thad was right. All I needed was someone to love me an
d speak truth to me, and God did both through my husband that day.

  UNABLE TO TOLERATE THE SUSPENSE, I texted Dad. “Hey, are y’all still at the doctor? It’s been six hours, and I haven’t heard from you.”

  He texted back, “We are home. Long day. Just tired. I will need to call you later.”

  Wait, what? Later? I need to know now. I can’t wait any longer.

  “Can you at least tell me if it’s good or bad, Dad?”

  “I can’t really talk about it. She doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  I knew it. It’s bad. No doubt she has sworn him to secrecy.

  “Dad, that’s not fair. Don’t do this to me. Please tell me what he said.”

  “I will later, but now is not the right time. I will call you tonight or tomorrow sometime when I am not around Mom. Don’t worry though; it’s not a brain tumor.”

  It’s not a brain tumor. Thank You, Lord. It can’t be worse than that. Thank You, thank You, thank You!

  Since I knew Mom didn’t have a brain tumor, I was more willing to be patient and wait for her to tell me. I didn’t push. Whatever it was, she needed her time and eventually she would tell me.

  Several days later, my phone rang. “Hey, Sarah, it’s Dad. You have a minute?”

  “Of course, Dad. How are you? How’s Mom? Is she ready to talk to me about her doctor’s appointment?”

  He hesitated. “Well, no. Not really. I thought she would be. We talked about her telling you kids in a few weeks over Thanksgiving, but I don’t think she will be ready. I just can’t say anything, Sarah. I promised her I wouldn’t, and I just can’t. I can’t break her trust.”

  I stayed quiet and listened.

  “It’s just that, I think Mom needs to be the one to tell you kids, and she wants to tell you when you are all together.”

  Well, gosh, if it’s not a brain tumor, then what is it? We all have to be together? What does that mean? Maybe it is cancer. Maybe she has breast cancer. Mom’s sister, Aunt Cherry, had died in her early fifties of breast cancer.