A young child of age fourteen sat in the large bay window of her two story home, staring at the vast midnight sky. Her long wavy blonde hair fell to her small shoulders and her crystal blue eyes were wide with wonder. Her head leaned right as she wondered of her large future, she worried for her mother, who had just entered the fourth stage of breast cancer. There was no choice of removing the cancer anymore as it had extended to her neck. The chemo had seemed to make the matter worse as it only made her sicker. The girl stumbled up and padded softly to her mother's room, set like a hospital.
She stared around the room. The cream colored walls covered with sanitized pictures, and the large windows covered by purple satin, closed tight. She had studied this room a thousand times, preparing for the moment she looked at her mother, but she never was, as the wind was knocked from her lungs each time. She stared in horror at the pale tinted purple skin, the many I.V's that poked her seemingly fragile skin. She carefully stepped to the bed, with baited breath and a hammering heart. "Mom," her voice was not but a small raspy whisper. Her hand reached out, "Mommy?" Her small hand met cold stiff skin. Her heart lurched into her throat and slammed into her stomach as she bolted into action.
She checked her mothers pulse, letting out a wretched sob as she found none. "Daddy!" She shouted as loud as her sob would allow her. Her heart hammered faster as she fiddled with the stethoscope, begging whatever entity that this was a cruel dream. She searched furiously for a heartbeat, any heartbeat at all. Her search was soon futile and she collapsed as her father bolted into the room and stared in horror at the scene before him. He took up his daughter's failed search and soon came to a heart wrenching fact. "She's........Gone...." His voice was thick with unshed tears as his heart shattered.
The scene faded into another, a soft lavender met her nostrils as the bright baby blue of her old room met her eyes. She looked upon a scene of the past, an out of body experience. Her mother sat in an old oak chair, holding a young child of four sleeping in her arms. A smooth melody in the form of a hum met her ears as she rocked to and fro. "My little Lily," her voice carried a whisper of a thousand words as she choked on her emotions. A kiss dropped on the child's forehead, as a tear fled the mother's pale blue eyes.
The scene changed once more in a flash. This one held a young child of twelve sitting outside her mother and father's bedroom door. "How do we tell her, Howard?" Her mother's desperate tone scaring her slightly, causing her to have to push the urge to hug her mother down. "I really do not know, Michelle," the father's voice was just as desperate. "Are you sure he said it spread?" His voice broke, a tear sliding down his sculpted cheeks. "Yes, Howard. It spread through my neck. We waited to long!" She shouted, the dam holding her tears broke open as she slammed her fist to the large dresser. "I'm not ready to go! I wanted to watch Lily grow and flourish like the little flower she is!" Her voice was thick with emotion as she slowly crumpled to the ground.
Scene shifted once more, and yet this one held a tone with sorrow. The family of three sat at the dinning table, Howard and Michelle stared at the maple finish as their only child stared them down. "Mother, what is wrong?" The child begged, her soft voice carrying a firm demand in a time of defiance. "It's nothing, Lily," Michelle told her twelve year old daughter, who prayed her screaming had not woke her daughter the day before. "Then, why were you screaming that you wanted to see me grow up? Why were you screaming you didn't want to die? If everything was fine, then why is that a worry?" The child seemed to grow a few years through the night, her words not one of a young child, carefree and innocent. Her soft features hardened from crying herself to sleep the night before. Her mother sucked in a breath, before she spoke the words that broke them. "I have stage four Breast Cancer," her mother paused for a brief moment. She soon realized her twelve year old child knew next to none what having cancer truly meant. "I..." She trailed off, not quite sure how she was going to break this to her only child. "I could....Honey, there is a possibility that I may not be...with you much longer, in person." She worded it as best she could without breaking to tears at the concept of not physically being with her daughter.
Two weeks later found young Lily standing in front of a oak wood coffin that contained the body of her 34 year old mother. Lily wiped her eyes, glad for the water-proof eyeliner her aunt Mathilda had loaned her. Her red lips puffed out in a small natural pout as tears by the bunched fell from her raw, crystal blue eyes. Jumping slightly at the sudden hand clapped on her left shoulder, she turned to see her father. "Come one, Lily," his voice was raspy and broken. "It's starting soon," he tugged on her small hand and pulled her to her proper seat on the first row. She fidgeted with her black dress, which was a long sleeved, puffy satin that went to her knees, and settled in her seat. "It'll be okay, Lily," her father's broken voice snapped Lily from her brief thoughts of the uncertain future. "We will be okay," determination shined through the broken, raspy exterior, and if nothing else, he was certain of this. Lily smiled at her father, "I know."
