Reality
When my mom picked me up from Heather’s house, Heather wouldn’t even look at her, almost as if she felt my mother’s cancer diagnosis was contagious, and if she caught it, she’d immediately grow sicker and sicker before simply deflating like a balloon, releasing all air and life. I could sense the uncomfortable energy, and my mother could too. It was almost palpable. Heather anxiously stared at the ground, barely speaking before slowly inching back towards the elevator.
I would like to add ‘cancer’ to my list of things that feel too daunting to say out loud, because at that moment, I still couldn’t bring myself to blurt out ‘cancer’ is not contagious.
I was stunned. My friends don't typically share the same affection and appreciation for their parents as I do. Maybe this was a cultural thing. Maybe it wasn’t–maybe it was that the thought of losing my mother that compelled me not to take her for granted.
After her diagnosis, I saw this whole other side of my mother. My mother, the person who birthed me, raised me, taught me all I know, helped me find myself in moments that I was simply lost–she was now the one crying; the one who was scared and sick. My mother saved me from failing in school when I was diagnosed with dyslexia, sacrificing everything to get me into a special education school. I knew she needed me now. As much as she tries to shield her pain from me and my sister, I can see right through her. I know how she walked around all day with her head up to the ceiling, hoping the tears wouldn't roll down her cheeks. Sometimes, I find myself doing that too. My life these past few weeks has been hanging on strings. Sometimes, I think that if I let go, my whole family will come crashing down. I may be one of the unfortunates to discover this early, but everything and everyone dies, whether you try to avoid it or not.