In a few days, my son will turn 30 years old, a fact that is both hard to believe and definitely worth writing about. Forgive this mama if the subject of this article is my son; I know all parents love their children as much as I love mine. If you read until the end, I think you will find this article isn’t just about a young man having a milestone birthday; it’s about providing some very important information. Like most mothers, I often see him in my mind as a child, sometimes as a baby. He is, after all, my biological son, so I was there when his story began. And what a wonderful story it has been.
In the delivery room, he didn’t even cry. Baby Blake just looked at me with that same understanding look he has today, as if to say, “I know, Mama.” Looking back, I see that as metaphorical for his life. He was such a gentle-natured, easy child to raise. I used to hear other mothers talk about their infants’ sleeping schedules, and I would avoid discussing mine. My child would sleep anywhere! As long as baby Blake was fed and dry, he slept wonderfully. I have almost no memories of his crying as an infant. Others would even comment on it. Sweet Blake was also such a well-behaved little boy.
With rare exception, whatever I asked of him would receive an “Okay, mommy” in his adorable baby voice. He loved my nightly stories and enjoyed his puzzles and drawings. I think he made his dad draw Big Bird a thousand times until he got it just like Blake wanted. In fact, Big Bird and the gang were his buddies for years. Sesame Street taught him his alphabet when he was barely out of diapers. The wonderful staff at Little Red Apple had him writing his name by the time he was three.
School was always where my boy truly excelled. I knew early on (with both of my sons) that academic work would not be a challenge for them. As an educator, I knew that I was blessed. Blake also developed great relationships with his teachers, something else this veteran teacher greatly appreciated. Out of all of his subject awards, his being given the Citizenship Award several times made this mama the proudest. I remember my dear mother was alive for one of his last middle school Awards Day programs, and we talked about Blake and how proud she was of him. I treasure that memory.
I grew to love all the facets of little Blake’s personality as he grew: his wit, his voices, his impressions, his creativity, and, yes, even his mischief. He knew how to make his mama laugh for sure, and I recall howling at his “old man” act, complete with a hunch, a walking stick, and an authentically old voice. His first foray into movie-making might have been when he took the video camera from me to “film something outside,” which I later discovered was himself — mooning at the camera and giggling the whole time! Halloween became a favorite time of year for him, perhaps because his birthday was close to the holiday. In fact, it was Halloween when I brought my newborn home from the hospital. I remember holding him at the door, excitedly showing him off to the trick-or-treaters of the night.
When he was a high-schooler, I was his teacher. Grading his essays was such a joy; the boy could write. He never seemed embarrassed to have his mother as his teacher, even when I made him and his smart buddies help me with any technology in the room. Wearing school uniforms was fine with him. He never complained about anything, ever. Several pairs of Blake’s shoes sat idle in his closet because he had his favorite pair. Fashion trends never beeped on his radar, and he was all the more “cool” for having no concern for them, a rare trait for a teenager. His love of Batman as a child had become well known; some of the students had even nicknamed him “Batman.” My Blakie boy could tell you the full synopsis of the entire Batman story, including movies and comics. His senior year had been filled with laughter, awards, and all the expected moments for this proud mama of Blake. Although I had lost both of my parents by his senior year, my life in the spring of 2014 was going wonderfully. And then it wasn’t.
I look back now and think the only way I survived the initial blow of “Your son has a mass in his colon” is because we went to the emergency room that night, thinking he had a burst appendix. I was not prepared. I cannot describe the feelings that run through a mother’s mind when she hears the word “cancer” from a doctor, and that word is in reference to your child. Keep in mind, I had lost my mother to the same disease a few years earlier. My father had died from a primary liver tumor several years before that. I was inconsolable on the inside. On the outside, I had to put my feet on the ground and be a mother to my son. All I could think of at that moment was, “Why?” Was it the cookies he ate as a baby? Did I miss something at a doctor’s visit? Is it because I’m a bad person? As a mother, I asked myself too many questions to list in a lifetime. This was my fault. It had to be.
When his brilliant surgeon recommended the “smartest human he ever knew,” a Dr. Robert Hamilton at the University of Mississippi Medical Center, we finally got our answer. Although I had never heard of Lynch Syndrome at the time, I have come to know more about it than I ever wanted. Blake, along with his father and other paternal relatives, was born with this genetic condition. Dr. Hamilton suspected it long before a genetic test confirmed it. Whenever a malignant colon mass is seen in someone this young, doctors almost always suspect a genetic condition such as Lynch. Thankfully, my younger son was not born with this condition. According to a 2024 article in the National Library of Medicine, most colon cancers are sporadic, but up to 10% are due to genetic conditions. The most common genetic condition that causes colon cancer is Lynch Syndrome. The article emphasizes the importance of identifying patients with this syndrome because they have an increased lifetime risk of several major cancers: colorectal (80%); endometrial (60%); gastric, ovarian, small bowel, urothelial, prostate, biliary tract, pancreatic, brain, and cutaneous (various).
We were blessed that Blake’s situation turned out the way it did. The prayers, community support, and amazing team of doctors all helped this beautiful boy and half-insane mama to recover. Even the Bat-signal, lit from the halls of Morton High School, when we finally returned a few days before his high school graduation, lifted our spirits further in knowing just how many were thinking about my Blake. My son was able to stand on that football field graduation evening and give the salutatory speech to his senior class, something that meant even more to his proud family that night. Blake’s natural gifts of writing and creativity are now put to use as a producer at MPB and as the creator of Jackson Comics. His precious wife, Mary, has made his life even more wonderful. I am grateful beyond description.
He goes yearly for screening, something he does willingly. He and his father have gotten used to this — that’s another story for another time. Suffice it to say, I have learned that life can turn on a dime, as the saying goes. What we’re worried about one minute will not be what we’re worried about the next. I remember thinking of that constantly as I sat on the floor outside his room at UMMC, the only place I felt comfortable enough to break down — I never did it in front of Blake. Well, I did once — he saw my happy tears! So, you see, his upcoming birthday is just another day to so many people. Not to me — to me, I see a flash of everything he and I have been through. It’s as if a movie is playing at a super fast speed from the moment he was born: all the great memories, all the sad memories, and now we have this time to celebrate my brilliant, thoughtful, modest adult son. If I cry that day, it’ll be happy tears once more for all the happy years in store.
And she loved a little boy very, very much, even more than she loved herself. — Shel Silverstein
