BLUEBERRY PANCAKES
I knew we wouldn’t live forever, but I
guess I thought he’d die when he was one
hundred years old. I would be in my late
seventies, so I wouldn’t mind as much. He’s
not a hundred and I’m only sixteen, but I
think this might be it.
The day we went to the doctor’s
office seemed like any other. The clothes in
my room were scattered around my floor in
miscellaneous places. The sun was shining
all around the house, and my dad was
cooking blueberry pancakes on the stove.
I always asked him how to make them and
he always said the same thing “I’ll teach
you before I die, I promise.” He cooked
blueberry pancakes every morning and
every morning I couldn’t wait to eat them.
That morning we ate our pancakes
and got into the car for my dad’s yearly
check-up. The check up seemed like every
other until the doctor sat us down and said,
“My team and I have been looking through
your recent blood work and we don’t have
good news.” All the color in my dad’s face
disappeared and the room became uncomfortably silent. Then the doctor said, “You
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have stage four pancreatic cancer.”
Pancreatic cancer. The sound of
the words seemed to repeat and echo in
my head. No one said anything, and the
silence continued to swim around the
room. I looked at him but he didn’t look at
me. His eyes stared off into a distant corner
of the room and then he said, “What comes
next?”
The doctor said, “Since it’s a very
late diagnosis, the cancer has already
completely s pread throughout your body.
Chemotherapy would not be effective in
this stage.” He went on further to discuss
that with chemotherapy he could live for
up to eight months and without chemotherapy he could live for between three to
six months.
The hospital room seemed to
be spinning and duplicating. My head
began to feel very heavy and the last thing
I remember hearing was a thud. I don’t
remember much of what happened after
this but I woke up on a hospital bed. The
doctors told me I had fainted and hit my
head but everything would be okay. My dad
was sitting next to me smiling the way he
always did. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
We headed back home and went
straight to our rooms. I took off my shoes
and tugged the cold sheets over my numb
skin. I rubbed the sore part of my head and
then stopped because the lingering pain
and nausea didn’t seem important in this
moment. A salty teardrop ran across my
nose and before I knew it I was sobbing on
saturated sheets.
In the morning I woke up and my
dad was cooking blueberry pancakes in the
kitchen. They tasted heavenly. That day we
didn’t talk about his cancer and we went
about our lives like nothing had happened
that could possible disrupt our happiness.
Things went on this way for weeks. We
lived knowing that we were merely basking
in oblivion. This was the worst kind of
oblivion because we both knew the truth
and were waiting anxiously for reality’s
inevitable interference.
The next month I woke up and
the pancakes were burnt. They were barely
edible but I ate them anyway because I
didn’t want to offend him. I saw how he
lost weight, how his face was dragged
down and wrinkled, and how much effort
it took for him to cook those blueberry
pancakes. There were some mornings
when the pancakes were undercooked
and others when they were too salty, but
I always said, “Thank you, Dad. They were
delicious.” One morning he woke up in his
most lively mood ever. He got out the pans
and asked me to take out all of the ingredients to make the pancakes. I did as he
asked and smiling he said, “I think it might
be time for you to learn my secret recipe.”
I had been waiting for this moment ever
since I could remember and I stared fixated
on him as he explained every step. Those
pancakes we made together that day were
warm and divine. They were so amazing
that they gave me faith that he would get
better.
We still laughed and savored
every last minute together. He hugged me
every night like it would be the last one. I
never wanted anything more than to have
him get better and stay alive for many more
years. But, one morning I woke up and
there were no blueberry pancakes on the
stove. That was the day I had to make my
own.
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