My mother has always been an exceptionally strong woman. After many health problems following the birth of my younger brother, I had grown accustomed to openly discussing her well being and new treatments and surgeries she would undergo. So when I started hearing fragmented and hushed phone conversations with family and friends, I knew something was going on. "No, it's going to be fine . . ." I heard her say. "I mean in terms of reconstruction . . . I just don't know . . ." Her voice trailed off. I can't say exactly when it was that the pieces of the puzzle fell into place for me, but over a short period of time it became strikingly clear that this was not just any health complication.
"I know there's something really wrong." I told my best friend, Tyler, who guaranteed me that my mom would tell me if anything was going on. I simply waited. One day, after neglecting to put my flat iron away after using it, my mild-mannered mom came storming into myr oom in a rage, loudly reprimanding me for never helping around the house or being of any assistance to her. Taken back, I sarcastically replied in an equally as loud voice, "Yeah, I'm a terrible daughter. Must really suck to be you.? Immediately regretting what I had said, I saw her face contort and she shrieked "No, actually sucks to be you! What are you going to do when I'm not around? I have cancer. So, really, good luck." And with that she left my room, got in the car, and drove away.
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