Letter from M. Carey Thomas to Mary Elizabeth Garrett, December 3, 1887

Dearest Mary, When I wrote in my last letter to you that was written only three weeks ago and that seems as if it were written years ago do you remember my saying that if I had less to do I should be perfectly happy. I thought as I wrote it that a Greek would never have written it with all the warnings of the Greek choruses ringing in his ears, but I thought also that the jealous gods, or god, were fictions and in the 19th Century there could be no impudence in such an expression, qualified as it was by an GÇ£ifGÇ¥. Will the day before Thanksgiving and I suppose all my life long I shall never pass a happy Thanksgiving again Mother asked me to come home (I had intended to stay at Bryn Mawr to study) and, Mary, I found her dying of cancer. Dr. Liffany had already said it was too late for an operation. They were all redy to give up in despair. Mother had known it for a year, been sure of it for 6 months, but it had given her no pain and she thought - t seems too pitiful to be true and yet too dreadful not to be true for when misfortunes come they come in the very most agonizing way - that she was being healed by trust in God, and all the while this cancer was spreading - I scarcely see how I can tell you and yet I have put it off so long in the hope that it might get a little easier to tell you - until I had cried so many nights that I thought I could not cry anymore. If it were not that I do not want to write what would displease Mother I could fill the paper with curses. Her death seems to me so unnecessary - I simply cannot bear it for it is not only death it is far far worse. I wish I could take her in my arms and kill her myself. I persuaded Mother to make one last attempt and Thanksgiving day afternoon Father Harry and I took her on to Philadelphia to consult Dr. Agrew (he and Dr. Sands of New York are the most celebrated cancer specialists in this country - everyone says). Dr. Agnew said he thought it not entirely too late for an operation and wished to perform it simply as a palliative measure, but Mother preferred caustic to the knife, so we packed trunks with everything necessary and in company with Aunt Hannah took Mother up to the Northern part of New York State where there is an immense cancer cure establishment. Dr. AgnewGÇÖs opinion had given us some hope and the long journey - we caught the first train for every 12 hours made a difference in the success of the operation - was sustained by some ray of hope. The doctor said it was too late he would do nothing - could do nothing 6 months ago there would have been time - she must die. Then you can imagine the rest. Mother was so ill at the Murray Hill that night that she refused to see Dr. Sands but again she yielded to my tears - even Father and Harry thought she had better not be worried - and Dr. Sands disagreed with Dr. Agnew but agreed with Dr. Liffany and Dr. Kingsley - he said an operation could not succeed, that it would probably increase the suffering and so that day we returned home perfectly hopeless. Mother is unable to raise her hand to her head, to dress herself, to do anything in short - it hurts her to get up or sit down but of course the agonizing pain has not yet begun although even now I see that she is concealing a great deal from us and many, many times her eyes are full of tears. It is terrible to be in the grasp of a blind chance - she may die before the most hideous part comes - Dr. Sands said a year perhaps - perhaps six months - perhaps 18 months that we shouldn ot wish to to be long and all I hope for now is that it may be next week - tomorrow - I suppose it is always so - but I feel as if this were the most awful misfortune that could possibly have come and as yet it seems as if I could not bear being away from her - if I could I would resign my position and if it were not for the desolate future without some outside active interest apart from books and for the house of cards that would remain at Bryn Mawr in place of the 2 years hard work I should do so. Perhaps I cannot hold out - the strain so so great. I have arranged my work with the assistance of Dr. Mitchell, a woman who has just come home from Germany so that I have no lectures on Fridays so I can be with MOther Fridays Saturdays and Sundays but of course the headmill goes on. Another graduate student has come from the Annex (which she left in disgust) for English work only - two of my five graduates are writing theses for MA degrees, one at Vassar, one at Michigan, and all this material I have to collect. When you used to tell me that you thought I would find uot about family ties if I ever lost them I always excepted Mother. I have looked forward all my life to taking care of her and making her old age happy, and now she is only 51 and nothing can save her from the most painful death it is possible to die. I am ashamed Mary dear to have written you such a blotted unheroic letter but I have just seen Mother again after 3 days absence and have been trying to pretend all the evening that I do not notice now much worse she seems. Of course for her sake we must be cheerful but I think we all of us except Frank, who can scarcely understand, shut ourselves in at night to cry. We have telegraphed for Grace and I meet her in New York next friday, poor child, for we have not dared to tell her the whole truth on account of her baby. My sympathy for the children makes it all worse but after all it cannot be quite the same for them as for Father and for me. You will forgive me, I knew for writing to you just what I feel. I wished to tell you and to tell you also that we have spoken of our trouble to noone and we hope very much to keep the facts from peoples [sic] knowledge. I am not going to write to Bessie about it because she is with Annie. I called on Lou Liffany and as she was out on Julia De Forest to ask about finding a maid for Mother and Julia De Forest was very kind and I fear took a great deal of trouble but could hear of no efficient ladyGÇÖs maid. If you should chance to hear of one you will remember to let me know. I want a regular ladyGÇÖs maid for the present - she must be competent or Mother will, I fear, try to do things for herself she ought not to do. One other thing - when we saw doctor after doctor I thought of one of the other persons I love and I asked whether when a lump in the breast - motherGÇÖs cancer is in her right breast, or was, now I fear it is everywhere, seems perfectly quiescent it should be attended to and the answer was that it should be looked at every three or four months by a practised surgeon, who can tell as one cannot possibly tell without experience, whether it is enlarging, when it must immediately be taken out. They all said the operation was so slight as to be trivial. So when you come home you must profit by this and watch your lump very carefully. I intend to have an enlarged gland I have burned out by caustic - there is no harm in erring on the safe side. Sunday I enclose the letters received about the Blackheath H. School. There is quite a lot of school news but I think it will have to wait for a time that may never come. I have been so sorry not to write regularly. For the 1st time I have found it entirely impossible to take the time and now it will be a question of physical endurance to get through my work and spend three days a week with Mother. Last night after I had blotted and scrawled the few pages to you I sat up till five oGÇÖclock in the morning getting some work ready for my graduate students. You will I know be glad to hear that Julia de Forest has just written to tell me she has heard of an admirable maid. It is so very kind in her. Your letter was a great pleasure. I am so glad you are enjoying the trip - the Sandwich Islands would be delightful. I hope you are already there - far off as it is. I shall think about you often if I do not write often. I thank you for what you said. I too think affection is something very nice, even if - yes, I suppose even if - it brings with it some part of the distress of last week but then no love is quite like love for oneGÇÖs mother so after all perhaps our hostages to fortune are not wholly unwise and no such horrible end could close every love, as that which has come to make me realize how powerless love is to help those one loves. Yours lovingly, Minnie C. Th.