FRED P. GALLO
I am no stranger to trauma and I am also sure that you are well acquainted with it. For me, trauma began at a young age. When I was eleven my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she died of lymphoma at forty-three. I was nearly thirteen. As the cancer spread throughout her body, I watched helplessly as the mother that I loved and knew to be passionate and vibrant, wither away. She suffered immensely and I suffered with her. You see, in those days, cancer patients mostly remained at home with insufficient pain medication to the end, which meant intense pain. I saw and heard her suffering. My father confided in me that she was going to die a year before she did and he told me to keep it a secret. I recall the strong electrical charge-the seeming bolt of lightening-surge through my body when he told me she was going to die. I remember feeling weak and falling to my knees, like the life had been drained out of me.