“Hey, I’m just worried about you. We haven’t really talked to each other in weeks. Talk to me.”
Tears well in my eyes. “I’m sorry, Jake, I can’t talk about it.” I quickly turn and leave him standing there without any kind of explanation. As soon as I get in my car, I feel bad. He doesn’t deserve my shutting him out, but I can’t help it. If I talk about it, it becomes real, and I am not ready for it to be real.But it is real.The words echo in my head. I ball my hands into fists and bang on my steering wheel. My tears are unstoppable as I sit in my car, bawling my eyes out.
I rest my head on the steering wheel and continue to cry. Ten minutes ago, I couldn’t wait to get home, but now, I am dreading it. I don’t want to see her suffer, and I know with aggressive chemo it’s gonna be bad. She will be weak and sick for days after each treatment. She will stay in bed and hardly eat anything. She will lose her hair and grow the baby-soft fuzz again. I’ve seen it all, and I don’t want to see it again. I can’t.
Just then, I hear a knock on my window. I look at the fogged-up window and swipe my hand across it. It’s Jake. He smiles, walks around to the passenger side, and gets in. “Are you ready to talk to me now?”
Before I know it, I’ve told him everything. He never knew my mom was sick before, so I tell him all about it—what she went through and how I know this time is going to be ten times worse. He raises his arm, and I lean in while he wraps it around my shoulders. I cry in his arms for what seems like an eternity. He doesn’t say word. He just listens.
Finally, he says, “Jayden, I know what you are going through is hard. Thankfully, I have never been a victim of your circumstance firsthand, but I can feel your pain. But you have to remember something. Your mom is strong. She got through this the first time, and she will get through it again. I’m not gonna tell you everything is going to be all right because we don’t know. What I am gonna tell you is you have to have faith in the doctors and, most importantly, faith in your mom. Whatever happens, nothing you will do can change the outcome. So enjoy your mom and stop worrying. Accept that you can’t change anything and understand that worrying about all this takes away precious time you have with her.”
I wipe tears from my eyes and look at him. “You know, Jake, you’re right. If there is some chance Mom doesn’t make it through all this, I need to make the best of the time we have now—live in the moment and cherish every day I have with her.” I wipe more tears away. “I would never forgive myself if I wasted such precious time.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Now you got it.”
“Thanks, Jake. You really are my best friend.”
For a brief second, he frowns, then it turns into a smile. “What are friends for? Just, next time you are dealing with life-and-death issues, talk to me. Please.”
“I will.”
“You okay to drive?” he asks as he reaches for the door handle.
“Yeah, I am. Thank you again.”
He gets out of the car and closes the door.
He points at the window, and I reach over and roll the window down. He leans in and says, “I’ll check in with you tonight and see how you all are doing.”
I nod, put the key in the ignition, and start the car. I watch him as he walks away and then I pull out of the parking space and head home.
Twenty minutes later, I get home, and Dad is sitting at the kitchen table. Mom is nowhere to be found. “How’s mom?” I ask.
“She is tired. She went upstairs to lie down.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “At least she has not gotten sick yet.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“I guess, but the doctors said it could take a day or two before the side effects hit her. We just don’t know when or how bad it will be.”
Jake’s words come back to me, and I realize I need to be strong for Dad too. This is my purpose, to get him through this no matter how it turns out. This is where I can make a difference. “Well, we will take it one day at a time and be there for her when she needs us. It’s all we can do, Dad.”
He looks at me and smiles. “When did you get so smart?”
I wink at him. “I have good parents who taught me things.”
He pulls me into his arms and gives me a hug.
“I love you, Dad. We’ll get through this, together.”
He doesn’t say a word, just holds me tighter.
A few minutes later, I ask, “Are you hungry?”
“Not really, sweetheart.”
“Dad, you have to eat. You have to stay strong for her.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that. We had a late lunch. Doctor told her to eat something before the treatment because she wouldn’t feel like eating afterward. You get yourself something. I’m pretty sure your mom and I are fine.”
