When I was two and three years old, I often excitedly ran up the sidewalk and front steps to a red brick, 1950s bungalow as my mom gathered things from our car. Even though I went there at least a couple of times a week while my mom went to classes at Utah State University, I was always thrilled to hang out with Grandma and Grandpa Ripplinger at their house in Logan. I felt lucky and special because I was the only kid in my family who got to see them so often. My three older siblings were all in school, and my younger sister wasn’t born yet.

Almost all of my earliest memories revolve around Grandma Beth. When my mom went back to college after she was 30, my grandma watched me, and we became the best of friends. She’d always make me lunch—often a peanut butter and jam sandwich, and I’d eat it at their kitchen counter. I believe I inherited my love of cats from her. One of my favorite pictures shows the two of us sitting together in a chair enjoying the company of an orange kitten. I can still quote word-for-word parts of the children’s books we read together. The smell of being in a nursery still takes me back to picking out flowers with her. I can’t see, make, or taste Angel Thumbprint cookies or homemade mints without remembering Christmastime with her. 

Grandpa was always there, too—often either reading or working in his small apple orchard out back. Sometimes I’d swing in their amazing tire swing or ride a pink Hot Wheels on their back concrete slab while he worked. I loved the fall, when I could rake up giant piles of Maple leaves with him. And Grandpa’s dry sense of humor was legendary. 

My family frequently refers back to a memory that took place when my little sister was about three years old. Grandpa had come over for dinner. After dinner my little sister, Katie, kept getting a peanut butter bar, taking one or two bites out of it, and then giving the rest to Grandpa. After he’d eaten three or four peanut butter bars mostly by himself, he said to Katie, “My dear, I don’t think I can stand for you to have another one of those cookies!”

In my early years, I spent most of my time with Grandma, though. One of my favorite parts of the day was when the mail was delivered through the mail slot that opened right into their living room. I’d hear the mailman open the metal mail flap, and I’d race to the front room to gather the mail as it fell through the hole to the floor. It was such a fun novelty, adding the kind of character that newer homes rarely seem to have.

It wasn’t long before the setting of my memories with my grandma took a giant detour, though. 

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My mom’s mascara-stained face told me everything I needed to know one morning. Even in my four-year-old brain, it was obvious that my grandma had passed away. My mom ALWAYS removed her makeup and washed her face at night, but obviously she hadn’t the night before. Sometime between when she and dad had left us kids at home with a babysitter so they could go to the hospital and when they returned home before we woke up the next morning, my mom’s beautiful mother had returned to her heavenly home. 

I will forever feel robbed that death took her away from me when I was so young. She didn’t get to physically see me become a big sister, get baptized, perform on stage dozens of times, learn to drive, graduate high school, get married in the same temple she’d been married in, graduate from college, or have my own kids. Despite her physical absence, though, Grandma Beth has stayed with me. She’s even occasionally sent me random cats to cheer me up on tough days, but that’s a story for another time.

At 67, my mom is now one year older than her mother was when she passed. And that fact terrifies me. My mom is the ONLY member of her family of origin who hasn’t had cancer. Both of her parents died of the dreaded disease—Grandma Beth from melanoma and Grandpa Conrad from bladder cancer. My mom’s older brother, Robert, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma as a young father, but he was able to fight it off and survive. Her older sister, Linda, fought Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and then throat cancer valiantly for over a decade, but in the end, it still took her. 

Cancer has haunted the people my mom loves for half a century. Through it all, she’s been a selfless caretaker. As my grandma battled cancer, my mom loaded me up in the car, and we went to help at her home or the hospital. We visited her at the Logan Regional Hospital often enough that I had a favorite oncologist. He wore flamboyant ties, and he always had a sucker or two ready to give me. When my mom’s dad got cancer about eight years after my grandma died, my mom helped take care of him. One would think that losing both parents to cancer long before you turned 50 AND watching both of your siblings fight it would exempt you from having the disease visit again, but you’d be wrong.

A little over 21 years after her dad died, the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad cancer came for my mom’s little buddy—my own sweet Lincoln. As was her nature, my mom stepped into our home to help us the day after Link’s leukemia diagnosis. She never technically lived with us, but she basically did Monday through Thursday for all of Link’s “frontline” treatment (the first eight months of his treatment, which were rough). Sometimes she would spend night after night in our guest room, which my boys came to refer to as “Grandma’s room”. Sometimes she would drive to her real home an hour away each night just to return the next day. And each time she stepped through our front door, my boys’ faces would light up, and I would breathe a sigh of relief.

She cleaned for us. She cooked for us. She watched Logan while Josh worked and I took Lincoln to the hospital. She offered support wherever it was needed. Her presence meant that I knew Logan was still having a blast with someone he loved when I was away. It meant that our chaotic life had a less chaotic home since she helped take care of it. It meant that when I needed a nap, I could go up to my room and collapse in exhaustion while she cuddled with Lincoln. In short, she saved us. I don’t know how we would have gotten through Lincoln’s cancer journey—especially in the middle of the pandemic—without her. 

Josh and I know that not all families are so lucky. We’ve heard from other families going through childhood cancer about how they don’t have any support from family. We’ve been so blessed with support that I can hardly even comprehend that. My mind boggles at the idea of single parents who have to juggle everything completely alone. We definitely don’t take my parents’ help for granted.

I’ll never be able to pay them back for everything they’ve done for us, but I’m always going to try. Last year when we submitted Lincoln’s Make-a-Wish (MAW) application to go to Disney World and Universal Studios, we requested that my parents be able to come with us. They were key figures throughout all of Link’s 27-month treatment, and we were overjoyed when our request was granted. Our chapter of MAW doesn’t pay for additional people outside of the wish kid’s immediate family, but Josh and I had decided that we wanted to pay for my parents to come with us. 

Of course, even paying for my parents to come with us to Florida was far from a selfless act on our part. My mom is not an amusement park enthusiast. She’s not a thrill-seeker, and she doesn’t like crowds. She went as a child to Disneyland once, and she didn’t seem bothered by the fact that she’d never gone again. It doesn’t help that she gets motion sickness. She probably would have been perfectly content to never go to another amusement park again. Luckily for us, though, she always wants to soak up as much time as possible with her grandkids.

When Josh and I told my parents about Lincoln’s wish trip, both of them said it sounded amazing and they’d like to come. I think my mom mostly wanted to witness the excitement and joy on our kids’ faces. Plus, like me, she’d wanted to visit Harry Potter World since before it opened. We’re huge “Potterheads” in my family.

We thought my dad, on the other hand, would be right at home at Disney World. He loves being around people and having fun. He’s tall, loud, and has a one-of-a-kind laugh. I frequently tell people that he’s like Goofy. He brightens everyone’s day and loves doing so. In fact, he literally plays the “Jolly Old Elf” at Christmas parties every year.

Our months of waiting for the trip ended the week before this past Thanksgiving. We flew to Florida on November 17th, and we flew back home on November 22nd. Just like throughout Lincoln’s treatment, my parents were with us the whole time. It takes a village, and every village deserves a celebration after they slay a dragon together.

The fact that we were able to go on the trip and all have a great time was a miracle in and of itself. We thought we’d be safe from hurricane season going in mid-November, but we were wrong! Hurricane Nicole hit Orlando the week before our trip. We were originally supposed to go that week, but LUCKILY Make-a-Wish had to bump us to the next week. On top of that, both of our boys (especially Lincoln), were sick off and on—in and out of the hospital—for months before our trip AND months after it. Our trip fell squarely in between lots of weeks of uncertainty about whether or not we’d be able to go. Lots of people joined us praying that everything would work out. Once again, our prayers were answered, and Link’s ideal wish trip was granted.

The trip included three days at Disney World and two days at Universal Studios. We stayed at an amazing place called the Give Kids the World Village. The Village was founded by Henri Landwirth, a Holocaust survivor, and it provides weeklong, cost-free vacations for critically ill kids and their families. (I’m actually reading Landwirth’s memoir right now, and it’s fantastic!) Everything about this 89-acre place is magical: free carousel rides that my kids couldn’t get enough of, a dinosaur-themed miniature golf course, a giant train display AND an actual train to ride on, a life-sized Candy Land game, delicious meals, unlimited ice cream, and more. It was all included. We feel so blessed that we got to experience it, and we can’t wait to go back and volunteer there someday.

At Disney World, we got to watch my Star-Wars-loving parents’ faces light up as we experienced Galaxy’s Edge. We got to watch snow fall on Main Street together at Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas Party. We got to share scrumptious treats at Epcot. We rode a ton of rides and each picked out our favorites.

It was ironic, though, when our predictions of how my parents would enjoy the trip ended up being practically the opposite of what we’d expected! My dad was the one who needed to take frequent breaks, while my mom was the Energizer Bunny and kept being adorably surprised at everything Disney World had to offer. My dad got motion sickness more and chose to stay behind at our villa one day while my mom soaked in Harry Potter World at Universal Studios with us. (Though, to be fair, we suspected certain sporting events on TV prompted him to stay back just as much as anything else, sports fanatic that he is.) All in all, the six of us had a once-in-a-lifetime vacation together.

Will a free vacation pay my parents back for their priceless service to us? Unequivocally no. But we hope it showed them how much we appreciate them. And I will always cherish the memories my boys were able to make with them there.

My mom won’t be nearly as thrilled with the other “gratitude gift” I’m going to give her. I’m going to force her to schedule a routine doctor’s appointment for herself. She’s always taking care of others and putting herself last. She can’t remember the last time she went to a doctor, but I’m going to make sure that changes. As I get older and more and more of my friends lose their parents, the thought of losing mine almost sends me into a panic attack. Since early detection is the key to fighting so many diseases, I want my mom to get checked ASAP. She’s probably 100% fine! When I asked her why she hasn’t been to the doctor for so long, she said that people go to the doctor when they don’t feel good, and she’s felt perfectly fine.

Though she’d never admit it, it’s possible she’s also a bit scared of going to the doctor and being told bad news. She’s experienced enough of that with the people around her for a fear to be perfectly understandable. It’s also not like she never goes to the hospital. She frequently accompanies my dad, who had a stroke when I was in high school and miraculously recovered, to his many follow-up visits. She just doesn’t go to appointments for herself. Better the monster you can see and fight than the one lurking in the shadows, though, so she’s scheduling herself an appointment! 

As parents, we’re expected to check under our kids’ beds for monsters. Sometimes, though, kids have to do it for their parents, too. From generation to generation, the incredible moms in my family have forged strong armor together. I know we can come out victorious against anything, but I’m really hoping we just get to relax and have fun together for a long spell now. Maybe Grandma Beth can send us some cats to fend off the monsters.