CLANDESTINE | HS |

THIRTY ONE

Logan

"It's going to be fine."

Patting my leg, I look over to my mom as she sits next to me in the vinyl chair of the waiting room.

"Okay but—" I start.

"Logan, just listen to me." Turning to face me, her eyes find mine. "I don't care what they say in that room, do you understand me? It's going to be fine."

Her stern voice shuts me up like only a mothers tone can.

Just looking at her, I can see the changes that have come about in the last few weeks.

Eyes that I've been so used to feeling warm and full of energy are replaced with a dull, tired expressions.

Where her skin has somehow seemed radiant it now has a hue that I can't even describe, almost like a shadow has settled across it.

Everything is changing and she knows it— I know it.

There's nothing you can really do to settle the dread that fills your bones like cement knowing that you can't fix something. That's how it feels to think about how sick she really is, how much time we have.

Or how much time we don't have.

Guessing games have never been my thing and even more so when it involves someone I care about, someone I love.

My feet feel like they've been glued to the ground as the nurse calls out her name and I go back with her, reminding myself to take deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

Staying strong for people has always felt like what I needed to do.

I've always allowed myself to have moments where I can be emotional — giving myself just a few moments to cry and let the vulnerability of a situation settle.

Getting a handle on how I feel about things is the best way for me to make sure that I can be there for everyone else.

I remind myself of that as I sit in the hard, cold chair and listen to the oncologist as they tell the one person that means the most to me that things haven't gotten better.

As they tell her that it's gotten worse, that it's gotten bad.

Breathing in through my nose and counting to ten for each breath, I won't let tears gather in my eyes as he tells her about the tumors that have started to spread.

The ones that weren't there before.

Instead I let myself hold my mother, the person who has given me everything I've ever wanted and made sure I was alive and happy. I hold her in my arms as the doctor leaves the room and she cries.

For her.

For her husband.

For me.

Pushing down those feelings that threaten to take over, I remind myself how strong I need to be for her.

It's not easy.

Pretending.

Only when I leave her house after we've gone to lunch and picked at our food, the meals we barely ate, only then do I let the tears fall. They cascade down my cheeks as I make my way to the only place that feels safe, the only place that feels warm when everything around me feels so cold and unfair.

Pulling my car into the driveway, the one person that can hold me and make me feel better waits for me outside.

"Come here, Lo." Arms wrap around me and lift me off the ground, carrying me through the front door. "I've got you. Baby, I've got you."