The Power of A Promise

by Tee VanderSchie, Mary Robinson's sister

I remember the day Mary called to tell me that the biopsy had not gone as expected. I recall thinking that nothing would ever be the same again. "How will our family ever survive without Mary?"

She had a mastectomy followed by long-term treatment. Later, she underwent another mastectomy and then a hysterectomy, as her cancer was hormone-driven. Chemotherapy and radiation worked for five years. There was a time period when we secretly declared her "cured."

Mary did everything she could to better her chances at winning this awful battle. She ate better; she did not drink at all; and she exercised more. We ran together. I remember many times running up the hills in her neighborhood, feeling tired. She'd yell at me, encouraging me "…just to the top of this one, then you can stop!" And of course, she'd then drag me on farther still!

That's just how she fought cancer, too. After the cancer spread to her femur and liver, she underwent a radical bone marrow treatment. Her healthy bone marrow was extracted. She was given huge debilitating doses of chemotherapy drugs, and then the good marrow was put back—to begin rebuilding.

Mary had never been away from her family for more than a night or two. Three weeks at a Chicago hospital was a terrific challenge for her husband, Tom and their two boys, Christopher and Cameron. She was sicker and weaker than we'd ever seen her before. We took turns riding the train to Chicago to stay with her, so Tom could be home with the boys. They came on the weekends to wave at her through the sterile glass dividers.

But she pulled through. We have funny pictures of us wearing surgical masks and welcoming her home again. Tom and the boys were wonderful during this time. But, we all knew that hope was being run out of town, and we were running out of time with Mary. That treatment 'bought us' almost another six months.

When the cancer could no longer be controlled, Mary's doctor told her and Tom to go home, be together, tell your family, and live what's left of life in peace. That's a strange word to think of when your life is coming to an end, but somehow she did. She taught us all a great deal about living and peace as time grew short. It wasn't long before she needed pain medication all the time.

Honesty was always a strong suit of Mary's, but never more so when she was dying. She never lied to her sons about her condition. She kept a positive attitude around herself like a warm cloak, which sustained them through the sick times, the healthy days, the pain and finally, the letting go. Through Mary's cancer and her eight years struggle with caner, they have grown and matured beyond all expectations. Her hallmark statement when she was upset or mad at someone was "Hey, I'm giving it to you straight, I don't have any time to waste here!" And she was right.

I still envision her laughing through the haze of medication, asking me "Am I really all that great, or are you just saying these things because I'm dying?" There was so much to say. Even then, I denied she would ever leave— how naïve I was to not admit how little time there was left.

One beautiful fall day in September, I took time off work to sit with her in the afternoon, as I often did during the days of chemotherapy. We'd watch movies and listen to the boys play outside. I'd make us soup or hot cereal and we'd share some quiet time together. I will always treasure those memories.

During these times, I made her promises: a promise to never forget; a promise to continue to run (we had run the Race for the Cure together for two years and she'd won in her age group); and a promise to continue to fight Breast Cancer in any way possible.

I didn't know then, where those promises would take us. September 14, 1999, Mary 'went home.' Nothing felt right. The world had stopped for a moment and now it needed to go on. None of us knew how to start up again.

Mary and I are just four years apart. Our older sister, Peggy, is four years my senior. There are four crazy, loving brothers in the mix too, along with our wonderful parents who taught us to be the family we are. The way we grew up is typical: never enough time or money, but always plenty of love and guidance. Mistakes were used to learn, and sharing meant that you knew someone cared deeply enough to help.

As a big sister, I tried in vain to lead Mary around in adolescence, but I knew at a young age that Mary possessed an 'old soul.' When we were in school, I was always a phase ahead, in middle school while she was in elementary, in high school when she was in junior high. It made for complicated arrangements when it came to sharing clothes, secrets and all the things that sisters have in common. We did share a room and I can say that MY side was always neater, but that's it. In every other way, I knew that Mary had some element that I was missing. She probably knew a lot more than I did. I wanted so much to guide her, but in her wisdom, she was the gentle leader—the one with the answers so many times.

We carried out her wishes in the painful, long days that followed her death. Mary had planned her Life Celebration—we were admonished if we ever called it a "funeral." The ceremony was indeed a true celebration of a life lived with courage and so much grace. Our youngest brother, Vince, sang and several of us toldf wonderful, funny stories. I repeated my pledge to her with a request for friends to join our family in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure the following weekend.

It was the first year in the history of the Southwest Michigan Race for the Cure that so many people from Kalamazoo attended. Team Hope (Mary's team for two years) ran stronger than ever with some 15 new members. After the race at my brother's house, we talked of what we could do as Mary's friends and family, to bring the promise to life. We wanted to tie it to Race and to bring Kalamazoo even stronger into the fight against Breast Cancer.

The Dance for the Cure in honor of Mary C. Robinson was born! With help from the local Southwest Michigan Affiliate of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, we were able to begin making Mary's Promise become a reality.

Team Hope, along with our family and many new and old friends, have joined together for three years now to dance and raise money to cure Breast Cancer. We held 'DFTC' at a local country club the first year and every year thereafter, it's held at Kalamazoo College, on campus near the pretty church where Mary and Tom were married. We have auctioned items including artistic pieces, jewelry, dining packages, golf outings, just to name a few. This year we are concentrating on an art show, combined with a silent auction format. So far, we have raised close to $50,000 to eradicate this disease.

Tom, Chris and Cam help. My parents are involved, as well as the community that knew and loved Mary. Those who now know her story are there year after year to Dance for the Cure. The Power of a Promise is never more evident, never more potent than when you have lost someone you love. It is a labor of love and a treasured part of the memories we will always have of our beloved Mary…wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, friend and coworker.

We miss you Mary, and we PROMISE again to keep fighting till it's over, till Breast Cancer is gone from the world we know, for all the mothers, daughters, sisters, women everywhere.