late night. 3:01 A.M.
I am downstairs because I want to get a drink. I hear a faint cry from my grandparents room and run towards the door. My father is already there. My grandfather is curled up on the bed. He holds my dad's hand. It is the first day of treatment. The cancer has hollowed out his body. His face is skeletal and foreign. His skin is taut over weary bones. I am angry because the treatment meant to help him has hollowed out his soul. He wheezes and tries not to scream too loudly. I press myself against the door so my father won't know I'm there. But what my grandfather says will haunt me for the rest of my life. He shakily grabs Dad's shoulder and begs, "just kill me. Just let it kill me!" He is screaming and crying and tearing at his own palms with his nails. And no matter how I squint or tilt my head, I cannot recognize my grandfather.
The next morning, I spot him forlornly looking at a chunk of his own hair that has fallen out. He looks at me through the mirror and gives me the tired, kind, smile I am so used to. But it looks so strange on that hollowed, horrible face.
I go upstairs and throw up.
