Crystal Willcuts: A tribute to my mother who was lost to cancer

Who would have thought a short walk on the beach on an ordinary day could symbolize so many things. For me, it stood for inexpressible joy, safety, sorrow, and imminent heartbreak. My most precious memory, other than seeing my children for the first time, is as beautiful as it is mournful.

There weren’t many people on the beach that fall day in 1995. The day was drawing to a close for many of the surfers and sun-worshippers. An alliance between the warm sun and San Diego sky seemed to keep the clouds at bay. Santa Ana winds blew, but not too hard; just enough to spray us with a fine ocean mist that kept us cool. White-capped waves poked out from under their vast blue-green blanket and the seagulls chased after the retreating waves as if they had the power to scare them away. I could taste salt in the air and smell that recipe of salt, sand, and water that only the ocean can claim.

My family strolled together side-by-side. I followed a few steps behind to take it all in—including them. My dad was on the far left—strong and distant, but always leading the way. My brother and sister were on the right. Those actors, grown-ups now, but who had parts in all of my childhood experiences. My toddler son ran, skipped, and jumped; discovering the exciting, the strange, and the possibility in everything around him. My mother walked between them. She was in the center like she always was—a bridge between father and child. She was my best friend and she was dying of cancer. She received the news that she had breast cancer the previous year. Like a death sentence, it would take her life in twelve brief months.