Daddy lifted his head, his eyes filled with so much pain, raw and acute.
“It’s okay,” I managed to say, my voice barely audible. “I’m…I’m okay.”
“Baby…” my mama said, placing her hands on my cheeks. She searched my face like she was seeing me for the very last time.
Dr. Long rose from his seat. I followed his movements. My parents looked up at him as if he were going to tell them he’d gotten it all wrong. That he’d read the chart incorrectly. That, actually, the results said there was a chance. Hope…
But there wasn’t.
Dr. Long pressed his lips together and said, “Take as long as you need in this room. I’ll be in touch in the next few days with a plan for palliative treatment.” He paused, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as if he was fighting back his own emotions too. Then he nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.
The silence his exit brought was stifling. Mama and Daddy reared their heads back, bloodshot eyes watching me to see if I would break. But the numbness remained. “Can we go home?” I asked. I didn’t want to stay in this hospital any longer than I had to. My parents glanced to one another, having some silent conversation I didn’t understand.
“Of course,” my mama said, and took hold of my hand.
I stared down at our entwined fingers. It didn’t feel like my hand she was holding. It felt as if I were suddenly watching the world from a detached standpoint. Like I was no longer in control of my body. I wasn’t in the driver’s seat. Rather I was inthe back, watching all of this unfold from a distance I couldn’t close.
I kept my eyes straight ahead as we left the room and walked through the Pediatric Oncology unit. The rhythm of my mama’s heels on the linoleum floor accompanied us until we were outside in the warm Texan air—four hundred and twenty-two steps.
My mama held on to me tightly until we reached our car. Daddy opened the door and helped me inside. I buckled myself in, all on autopilot. I tried to feel something, to let my conscious mind fight back the peculiar detachment, but there was nothing.
Daddy started the car, and we drove in silence all the way home. I caught the worried glances my parents shared in my periphery. Saw their heads frequently turn back to me, waiting for me to break, to speak, to doanything. But I focused only on the views outside the car window, staying within the cocoon of safety I had found within myself.
The trees swayed in the afternoon breeze. Birds sang and launched themselves into the sky, swooping and soaring. The sun blazed in a crystal-blue sky. The world remained the same.
But I was going to die.
I inhaled a deep breath, feeling a slight catch in my chest as I did. I waited for the panic, the pain, the absolute gutting fear that must come with being told your days on this earth were finite—but the numbness held strong. I stared down at my hand; it still didn’t feel like mine.
In what felt like no time at all, we arrived at home. I glanced up at our small house. Everything looked the same. There was comfort in that, that when life turned on its head, some things remained the same.
My door opened and Daddy reached in to help me out of the car. I took his hand and let him lead me into the house. But once inside, the silence that swallowed us began to chase away thenumbness. Prick by prick, needlelike piercings of anxiety began to press against my chest.
“June?” Mama said. Her sad eyes searched my face. I didn’t know how to react. How were you supposed to act when you were told you were dying? I didn’t know the protocol.
“I need some fresh air,” I said, and made my way to the backyard. I heard my parents following. I stopped and, without turning, said, “Please…let me just go out there by myself. I need to be alone.”
I didn’t look to them. I couldn’t bear to see the sadness on their faces anymore. I wasn’t pushing them away—I just needed tobreathe. I needed to find my way back to myself.
The sun coming in the windows made spears of rainbows on the kitchen counters, and the distant smell of the bread my mama baked this morning clung to the air. I let it all wash over me, then stepped out onto the back porch. The wooden deck creaked beneath my feet. I walked to the railing and leaned against it. I looked down at my hands again, curling my fingers. My nails were short and brittle but otherwise looked okay. I breathed in deeply, the air filling my lungs. My legs and my arm joints ached.
But I wasokay. I didn’t feel like I was done on this earth.
My body might have been failing, but my soul feltalive. I couldn’t reconcile the two. A bird sang from a treetop in the woods to the side of our home, and I found myself looking up. The breeze kissed my cheeks, and I watched the bird, perched on a branch. As if it felt my attention, it looked my way.
Seconds later, it took flight.
I wished I could do that right now—take to the skies and lose myself in clouds.
I’m so sorry…
I’d been fighting for so long. I supposed, in my naiveté, I hadn’t believed Iwouldn’tbe healed. Yes, many treatments hadfailed for me, but I always thought there would be something that took, that one of the treatments would work. It was just a question of which.
My heart increased in rhythm. I curled my hands into fists, but that detached feeling was still in place, like my true self had been sequestered somewhere inside of my mind.
I moved to the porch swing and sat down.
The door opened behind me, and I turned to see my parents walking through. For the first time in a couple of hours, I smiled. “How did I know you wouldn’t be able to stay away?”
