that make him more put together than I'll
ever be.
Without hesitation, everyone grabs a plate while his mother slices up pieces of the
leaning tower of cake. Some people sit at the table and others stand, but everyone
eats the cake and agrees that it definitely tastes much better than it looks. The
conversation flows easily, and I find myself being pulled into the happiness of their
family and surprisingly have no problem talking and laughing with each of them. The
ache in my heart at how many birthdays and holidays I spent exactly like this one
isn't completely far from my thoughts, though. In the back of my mind is sadness and
regret that my family fell apart so easily. The glue that held us all together is
missing, and now we barely speak to one another, let alone gather in each other's
houses like this to celebrate together.
"Oh, Zander, I forgot to ask you, did you hear about Tina Reddy's mom? They just found
out she has Leukemia," Mary says sympathetically.
The bite of cake in my mouth goes down roughly, and I set my plate on the counter
next to where I'm standing.
"You went to high school with Tina, didn't you?" his dad asks. "We just saw her parents
a few months ago when we were out to dinner. Sad news."
Zander clears his throat uncomfortably and shifts his feet next to me.
"I guess it was a total shock. She's been feeling under the weather for a while and
they ran some blood work. I feel so bad for that family. She's such a nice woman and
now this. I should give them your cell number in case they have any—"
"Hey, we forgot to sing happy birthday," Zander says quickly.
The conversation about Tina Reddy's mom is forgotten as everyone gathers around Mary
to sing, but the damage has already been done. I'm standing here in Zander's parent's
kitchen thinking about that day a few years ago when we received similar news.
Mom had the flu for a little over a week now and when she called her doctor, he told
her she might as well come in for some tests. "Better to be safe than sorry," he said.
When I got out of school and finished with cheerleading practice, I sent her a text
to see what was going on, and she said she was still at the hospital waiting for the
doctor to come and talk to her. My dad ran to the bakery to close out the register
for the end of the day, so she was sitting there alone, bored out of her mind.
When I got to the hospital, I went straight to the room number she sent me in the
text and was surprised to see her in a hospital gown in bed.
"What are you doing getting all comfy and lazy? Shouldn't you be getting out of here
soon?" I joked as I walked up to her bedside and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"I have Leukemia." She blurted it out in a shocked voice, her face void of emotion.
"What?" I whispered as I pulled back so I could see her face.
Maybe I didn't hear her correctly or she misunderstood what the doctor said.
"The doctor just left. I'm going to be transported to Metro Hospital as soon as they
can get an ambulance here."
She said it so calmly, like she was talking about the weather, not a life-threatening
illness. While I was driving over there, blasting Top Forty radio and worrying about
a stupid Spanish test I had the next day, my mother was getting these test results
and she was all alone.
I wanted to curl up in bed with her and cry. Cancer was serious business. A lot of
people received treatment and went on to lead healthy lives, but it was still scary.
My mother was a rock and rarely got sick, aside from the occasional cold. This was
big and it was bad, especially if they wanted to transport her to the largest hospital
in the state that quickly. I couldn't get upset now, though. She needed me to be strong.
She needed to know that I trusted the doctors to get her through this and that we
would look back on this one day as just a bad moment in time, something easily forgotten.
"Okay, good. You'll go to
ever be.
Without hesitation, everyone grabs a plate while his mother slices up pieces of the
leaning tower of cake. Some people sit at the table and others stand, but everyone
eats the cake and agrees that it definitely tastes much better than it looks. The
conversation flows easily, and I find myself being pulled into the happiness of their
family and surprisingly have no problem talking and laughing with each of them. The
ache in my heart at how many birthdays and holidays I spent exactly like this one
isn't completely far from my thoughts, though. In the back of my mind is sadness and
regret that my family fell apart so easily. The glue that held us all together is
missing, and now we barely speak to one another, let alone gather in each other's
houses like this to celebrate together.
"Oh, Zander, I forgot to ask you, did you hear about Tina Reddy's mom? They just found
out she has Leukemia," Mary says sympathetically.
The bite of cake in my mouth goes down roughly, and I set my plate on the counter
next to where I'm standing.
"You went to high school with Tina, didn't you?" his dad asks. "We just saw her parents
a few months ago when we were out to dinner. Sad news."
Zander clears his throat uncomfortably and shifts his feet next to me.
"I guess it was a total shock. She's been feeling under the weather for a while and
they ran some blood work. I feel so bad for that family. She's such a nice woman and
now this. I should give them your cell number in case they have any—"
"Hey, we forgot to sing happy birthday," Zander says quickly.
The conversation about Tina Reddy's mom is forgotten as everyone gathers around Mary
to sing, but the damage has already been done. I'm standing here in Zander's parent's
kitchen thinking about that day a few years ago when we received similar news.
Mom had the flu for a little over a week now and when she called her doctor, he told
her she might as well come in for some tests. "Better to be safe than sorry," he said.
When I got out of school and finished with cheerleading practice, I sent her a text
to see what was going on, and she said she was still at the hospital waiting for the
doctor to come and talk to her. My dad ran to the bakery to close out the register
for the end of the day, so she was sitting there alone, bored out of her mind.
When I got to the hospital, I went straight to the room number she sent me in the
text and was surprised to see her in a hospital gown in bed.
"What are you doing getting all comfy and lazy? Shouldn't you be getting out of here
soon?" I joked as I walked up to her bedside and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"I have Leukemia." She blurted it out in a shocked voice, her face void of emotion.
"What?" I whispered as I pulled back so I could see her face.
Maybe I didn't hear her correctly or she misunderstood what the doctor said.
"The doctor just left. I'm going to be transported to Metro Hospital as soon as they
can get an ambulance here."
She said it so calmly, like she was talking about the weather, not a life-threatening
illness. While I was driving over there, blasting Top Forty radio and worrying about
a stupid Spanish test I had the next day, my mother was getting these test results
and she was all alone.
I wanted to curl up in bed with her and cry. Cancer was serious business. A lot of
people received treatment and went on to lead healthy lives, but it was still scary.
My mother was a rock and rarely got sick, aside from the occasional cold. This was
big and it was bad, especially if they wanted to transport her to the largest hospital
in the state that quickly. I couldn't get upset now, though. She needed me to be strong.
She needed to know that I trusted the doctors to get her through this and that we
would look back on this one day as just a bad moment in time, something easily forgotten.
"Okay, good. You'll go to
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