Our Story Part 4: Cancer, Healing & Transformation
At the end of 2018, we were faced with our biggest hurdle yet: Mom was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Life froze in a bizarre way as we dealt with the news. Somehow, both of our businesses continued running, but often without us, or with just one of us trying to manage it all.
In the same week of our mom’s diagnosis, Lindsay separated from her husband. We seemed to be breaking open, each of us, all at once.
Life felt incredibly hard. All we wanted to do was close everything and be home to help Mom, but we ended up taking turns. And in hindsight, we see now how the breaks, coming back to Provo to work and see our family and friends, were a much-needed reprieve from the heaviness of cancer.
That December we all flew home to spend an early Christmas with mom, who was awaiting surgery. The surgery date came and we all drove up to Toronto. Mom wore her “Tough as a Mother” sweater. We waited. When the doctor came to see us an hour into the operation, we knew—mom couldn’t have the surgery we’d hoped for because her tumor was metastatic.
With surgery out the window and Chemo starting the first week of January, we all began researching. Mom changed the way she was living almost overnight. She made some foundational shifts for healing – coffee became Dandyblend, wine became Perrier, and sugar was out with the exception of some honey, maple syrup or stevia. Later, after attending the Hippocrates Health Institute (ol’ faithful in our family), she was eating a fully raw food diet, drinking wheatgrass and green juice daily, and we were even administering mistletoe therapy injections into her belly every other day. She did Vitamin C IV, took ALL the supplements, and was under a high dosage of Rick Simpson Oil - a concentrated sticky oil from the cannabis plant that we used to squirt into a raspberry. I recall the raspberry being a real “treat” for her!
While we integrated holistic lifestyle practices into Mom’s life, she also underwent nearly three rounds of chemotherapy, of which we referred to as “healing juice”, and one round of radiation therapy. She most definitely stood out in the chemo lounge with her bottles of green juice on her side table and healthy bliss balls to snack on.
By 2019, we made the difficult decision to close Retreat Kitchen. Between the financial, mental, and emotional struggles and our new roles as Mom’s caregivers, it was the best decision for us. It freed our time and took a load of stress away as we navigated our new reality.
Later that year, we had the opportunity to change business locations on the island. The new spot was a street-front, large corner unit on the ground floor, with plenty of possibilities. It was a shell in which we could create the layout of our business any way we wanted—and the rent was cheaper. So we seized the opportunity.
Our new space was outfitted as a to-go cafe and boutique connected to a beautiful new yoga studio. Finally, we felt like we had our business figured out. We even incorporated a “Mom’s Salad” from time to time in honor of her fully raw plate of vegetables she ate on the daily.
The new concept was dreamy. Our patrons entered through the cafe and boutique, enjoyed the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and muffins in the oven, wandered down the hall for a yoga practice, and came back out to pick up breakfast or lunch to-go. It seemed much more manageable as a smaller-scale food operation, with the yoga studio operating seamlessly as it always had, and with everything under one roof.
While we were renovating the new space, Mom came down for a visit. She was between treatments and decided to repair and expand her knowledge at Hippocrates and then come to Provo. As we spotted Mom coming out of the airport, she seemed to float! She was glowing with health and vibrating wellness. We just stared at her in absolute awe of her transformation.
Mom had healed and restored her body while living with and keeping her cancer at bay. She got to watch Lindsay and I ‘do our thing’, designing and creating a new space for all the things we love. At the end of this particular visit, there were tears of a different kind, almost knowing that it would be the last time she sipped in the salty warm air and took in the beauty of Turks and Caicos’ turquoise waters.
Our business in the new location was thriving– until March 2020. In the blink of an eye, the news of a life-threatening global pandemic quickly exchanged daily life with policies, protocols, and mandates. Our doors closed and we went into lockdown, as did the rest of the world.
Everything shifted for us, as it did for so many.
Within that first week, we moved our studio online through Zoom and began offering classes to our community from our homes. We even introduced cooking classes. This transition kept us grounded and also afloat in a very challenging time. The connection in class gave comfort to our community, and because our Mom liked to join our classes when she could, we had the comfort of seeing her smiling face on the screen.
While the world sat at a standstill, unfortunately Mom’s cancer did not. We could see that we had reached the point of no return. After a year and half of working hard to support her—both her health and her fight—we turned a scary corner, all while being in lockdown on a tiny island thousands of miles away.
Lindsay and I were back on Canadian soil as soon as possible. We said goodbye to our loved ones, not knowing how long we would be gone, or under what circumstances we would return.
The summer of 2020 was strange and beautiful. It was our last summer all together—perfect, sunny, full of family, laughter, tears, more laughter, lake swims, hiking, golfing, healthy meals, and a daily cancer care regimen. We even zoomed in live from mom’s apartment each week to teach yoga and plant-based cooking classes.
We stayed for 3 months. We hardly slept. Lake Ontario was clearer than it had been in years, and the dips in ice cold water were the perfect reset for our nervous systems.
Towards the end of the summer, mom’s pain had increased significantly. A palliative care doctor called and said he was taking over her care, and none of us were ready. We didn’t talk too much about the end, just enough to know it was so hard for all of us to even think of saying goodbye.
In September, mom’s friends and family all came to visit. Our brother Mike and his family came every day. Lindsay’s son Lucas flew up with his dad, my husband was with us, and even Dad flew up to be near us.
In her final days, we moved mom to a hospital room and Lindsay, Mike, and I were right by her side. We slept beside her in chairs and we all did our best to keep her comfortable, filling the space with love and care and still finding moments of joy. Mom took her last breath on the crisp morning of September 12th.
When we returned to Provo, we were changed women. The loss of our mother is still taking its toll on us in different ways, and 2 years later, we are still processing all of it.
But there is always a sparkly silver lining to be found, and just as our mother transitioned to her next layer in this wild universe, I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, Cleo Vali.
This was one of those divine moments in life when feelings of great loss and grief blend with excitement, gratitude, and joy. The loss of our mother and the birth of a baby in such a short time put everything in perspective.
Family is most important to us, full stop. We try not to take anything for granted, and we deeply value our time together.
As we navigate our careers moving forward, we want to work in a way that feels authentic, exciting, and creative. We want to explore and share our perspectives and knowledge based on our experiences in the wellness world, and in life. The shifts and pivots in our personal and professional lives have paved a path forward for us, in a new way.