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“Okay. Thank you.” The words are almost robotic as they leave my lips.
“Please don’t hesitate to call my office if you need anything, okay?” she offers kindly, a shy smile pulling at her lips.
She rises from her desk, signaling me to do the same.
I mirror her, standing up from my seat and stepping toward the door. “Thanks again.”
She smiles politely and opens it for me. “Thank you, Charlotte. We’ll be in touch.”
The second I’m through the doorframe, tears are pooling in my eyes. I want more than anything to run to Reed right now. But that is the last thing I will let myself do. All I can picture when I think about him right now is my dad and how losing my mom absolutely broke him.
I can’t do this. I can’t be sick. I just can’t.
Questions and what-ifs begin running through my mind as I’m walking to my car, and before I know it, I’m sitting in my front seat and wringing my hands on the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. So much for role-playing. I think I can cut myself some slack though for having a break of character.
Is this feeling my new normal? Feeling somehow checked out while also acutely aware of the horror of my reality.
Trying to take another deep breath, I start my car and attempt to clear my mind so I can at least get back to Reed’s house in one piece.
As I drive toward his house, I begin counting the trees that I pass, people, signs, cars, anything to take my attention off of myself. As long as I keep doing that, I’ll be okay.
It doesn’t take long for that strategy to fail before I can’t stop thinking about Reed, my mom, Laura, Josh, and my dad—a torturous cycle, where thinking of one only makes me think about another and the pain this will cause them.
What will they think? Will they feel the same way I did with my mom?
When my mom first passed, I couldn’t picture her without seeing the image of her in a hospital bed, weak and frail. It took me a long time to replace that image with one of my favorite ones of her—where she is wearing this oversize sun hat and a flowery, colorful dress. She was glowing that day.
Since then, I have trained my brain to picture that image instead of one of her last moments. But as hard as I try right now, the only vision of my mom I can see is one of her in pain and misery. I can’t help but think that everyone I love will soon have that experience when thinking about me.
The memory of my mom’s last days brings intense feelings of sorrow back—for my loss, for my dad’s, and for anyone who was blessed enough to feel my mom’s love.
My parents had a love story that everyone dreams of having. They were so in love and only seemed to fall more and more so with each other as time went on. They were the inspiration behind my obsession with happily ever afters.
Did they have a perfect marriage? No, of course not. No one does. But they worked at their relationship every day as a team. It was always them versus whatever the problem was, not them versus each other.
I grew up watching fairy tales in cartoons and movies, but seeing theirs in real life was so much more impactful. Then, I watched it burn to the ground, witnessing the joy and happiness drain from my father. I learned that happily ever after doesn’t always mean forever. But it never stopped me from wanting to find love like they had, and I did. I found that happiness with Reed, and now, life decides to ruin it.
How can I ask him to be by my side through this? How can I ask him to follow the same fate as my father?
By the time I pull into his driveway, I am in the same state of insanity and chaos as I was before. But somehow, now, being at Reed’s home, a place I’m in almost every day, makes the last hour and a half feel like a horrible fever dream. For now, I’ll take it. Any moment of reprieve is welcome.
Reed is gone for today and gets back tomorrow from an away game. As much as I want him to hold me, I’m thankful he’s not here right now. I don’t think I could handle telling him, and I know he would be able to tell that something is obviously wrong. On top of it, I’m not ready to even fully admit it to myself yet, let alone say it out loud to him.
He knew I had to stay back from traveling with the team for their game because I had an appointment. But he thought it was just a checkup with my gynecologist, not my oncologist.
I just didn’t tell him about the real issues leading up to this appointment, I hoped everything would work itself out, and I would never have to. Honestly, I thought it was going to be okay. I didn’t think it would reach this point.
We see how well that fucking went.
I wish I could have skipped the appointment and gone with the team, like I was supposed to. I would be with them right now, getting ready for the game, probably laughing at something the guys are doing, and having the time of my life. Instead, I found out that all the plans I made for Reed and me might never come true.
Opening his garage door, I park inside and close it behind me, immediately overwhelmed by Reed’s scent. I’ve been so good, or at least moderately decent, at keeping myself together, but being surrounded by the smell of the one person who has my entire heart is weakening my resolve.
My eyes well with tears as I enter his house. That glass cage in my chest is beating, vibrating ferociously, and I know what’s about to happen. An inevitable moment that I tried to prevent. Without any thought, I kick my shoes off, walk into the living room, and grab my favorite blanket. I wrap myself in it like a burrito and throw myself on the couch right as the cage shatters into a million pieces and tears pour down my face.
The worst thing about this diagnosis isn’t fighting for your life; it’s watching the light fade from the one you love. And I refuse to subject Reed to that.
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