27/11/2025
Just days after I arrived at Georgetown, my dad called to tell me my mom had brain cancer.
I rushed home, and within 48 hours she was in a 4.5-hour awake brain surgery — the kind where they open your skull and wake you up mid-procedure so they don’t remove too much and affect your ability to speak.
My sisters, my dad, and I were terrified, just waiting for word that she made it through.
When we finally walked into her room, her head wrapped and a drain bulb beside her, she looked right at us, pointed to her bandage, and said, “Chiquita banana lady.”
After everything she had just endured, her first instinct was to make us laugh.
That moment said everything about who she was — strength, humor, and love all wrapped together.