The Story

We met several doctors over the years. Each would smile and say “Oooh, your mama, she is my favorite patient!” in their German or Russian accents because, for some reason, most fell into these nationalities.

But there was one particular doctor, the one in our hometown, who was, in fact, American, that she saw for almost a year. At every appointment, she grilled him. How long have you been at the hospital? When was the last time you saw your wife? And when exactly are you planning on leaving? Too long. Go home.

A few days before she died, he wrote this in a journal for friends to say their goodbyes:

The day she died, he and his wife whisked us to their home so that we didn’t have to sleep in our own, the latest in a series of supportive acts from our community. People always came to change her bandages, cook, clean, trim the bushes, or just visit, in return for her wisdom and advice. These unique relationships let us lead semi-normal adolescent lives, and I can’t imagine where we’d be now if cancer had dominated our lives rather than the other way around.

So, yes, honoring our mom is a major impetus for this project. But an equally large motivator is the fact that this year, doctors will diagnose an estimated 1,437,180 new cancer cases. Of these, 1 in 2 will be men, 1 in 3 will be women. Every 3 out of 4 families can expect these cases to show up in their homes, and 565,650 families will lose someone. That’s why we’re driving. That’s why we’re selling casseroles. We hope that eventually every family will have the level of social support they need. For now, we’ll take it serving by serving.