The word “cancer” didn’t mean anything to me. The only experiences I had with disease were temporary. Colds and coughs. The idea of death was the stuff of nightmares and movies. At the time, all of the grandparents that I had ever known were still alive. In fact, the only experience I had with death to that day was my cat, Pillar, which was the only thing I think my mom may have possibly loved more than her family. Had I known how close my mom had come to dying, I don’t think I would be who I am today.
At the time I had no idea. I had no idea why we were at the hospital. I believed that this day would be just like any other July afternoon. As I sat in the lobby of the Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, playing Battlestations: …show more content…
My dad worked long hours, and he tried his best to be home but usually by the time I was home it was only my babysitter and me. She was an incredibly kind, older woman from Belize named Carol. Her English was a bit spotty, and whenever you asked her a question, she would reply with “Not too bad” in a thick Belize accent and she made some of the best barbecue chicken I have ever had. She had an energy about her that would always look on the bright side. I think that she is this way because she had been through much worse than cancer herself. Carol was almost family. …show more content…
She had less hair on her head than usual. I had always loved my mom’s hair. It was always there when I hugged her and sometimes I would just bury my face in her shoulder. Long and wavy, it was like the hair of the mom in a TV show. Blonde streaks layered through it like melted gold. But now it was gone. Reduced to nothing but peach fuzz. Still, I was unfazed, she was my mom and always would be. I had never wanted to see her as badly as I did then. I climbed into the hospital bed with her, and once more she comforted me. We snuggled and watched old movies in her room for the rest of the