Things Unsaid

How To Tell Your Parents

In total awe and disbelief, it actually took me a while to break down crying. This wasn't a we can save you kind of cancer, but a confirmed that's it kind.

"Did you tell my parents?" I meekly asked.

"Usually with younger cases we do right away, but it's a personal disease and we let adults and late teens tell themselves if that's what they wish."

I nodded. As much as it hurt, I had to tell them on my own. No doctor could help with this news. This was my battle and my responsibility. A lump of emotion sat like a log at the back of my throat. Fighting back the waterfall of tears was unbelievably difficult, but I had to be okay. After all, if I wasn't okay, then how in the world was my family supposed to be okay?

Feeling like every other patient and receptionist, nurse, and doctor I passed by knew my terrible fate, I slowly made my way back to the waiting room. Passing by the little window with the office receptionists, they asked if I would like to set up my physical time for next year, but obviously, I couldn't. There's no point to set up an appointment I wouldn't even be alive to attend. Keeping my head up, I walked into the waiting room. With large smiles on their faces, they were all looking so happy. Their happiness hurt a part of my soul.

"Great! You're out! Now let's celebrate another healthy year and go out to eat something!"

Christine smacked her gum and put her phone back in her pocket. Even she seemed very happy.

"What's all the excitement about?" I asked, trying to mimic their happiness to the best I could.

"They won't tell us until we get to the restaurant." Christine replied.

Faking the biggest, cheesiest smile I could, I muttered out a little "Well, let's get going then!" Believe it or not, they totally bought it, and on our way we were to the restaurant. The car eventually pulled up by this fancy schmancy place. We rarely eat here due to it's expensive food and usually high waiting list. The only memories I ever remembered here was when they had really exciting news to tell us. Apparently, today was going to be one of those days.

The waiter sat us at a nice table overlooking the ocean. It was a drop dead gorgeous sight. There wasn't any wait either. My parents were DEFINITELY up to something. I ordered the seafood fettuccine alfredo with shrimp and a water. Christine ordered shrimp scampi and a soda. My parents got some kind of exotic lobster dish. When the food arrived to the table, the scent of wonderful food arose. My mouth watered, and all emotions from the doctor's visit seemed to fade away from me. Just a little bit. Food had always had such an effect on me.

"You can't keep us in the dark forever. What's the big news?" Christine asked as I popped a little shrimp in my mouth.

My parents looked at us, then at each other, and then back at us again. So dramatic. Was I the only one in this family who hated unnecessary drama?

"Well, your father and I have always done everything in our power to raise you up right. The other day, as if the universe all worked out in our favor, your father got a major promotion."

"And to celebrate, we're taking you both to your favorite amusement park before school starts back up." Dad chimed in.

Christine's eyes lit up. I was pretty excited too. This was fantastic and exciting news! For the first time all day, I might have smiled for the first time.

"Angie, what did you want to tell us?" Mom asked.

I gave a blank expression. "I didn't ask to say anything."

"You looked like there was something bothering you before."

Oh right, I can't hide the cancer thing. Great.

Look, I know that I could have said something in that moment. I could have been open and honest and told them everything, but I just couln't. Not when my entire family was thrilled over great news and excitement. Most certainly not when we were sitting at a very nice restaurant where others were around. No, I couldn't tell them like this. This restaurant held too many happy memories to damper it with my massive sad one.

"Nothing, I'm fine. Really. And congratulations, by the way!"

Shifting the conversation back to my parents great news felt right. Cancer would have to wait. There's a right time and place for everything and until that time and place, I couldn't reveal what was turning into my deepest, darkest secret.

We continued to eat and celebrate the promotion. I stayed quiet in hopes that I wouldn't reveal myself. Luckily for me, drowning my deepest sorrows comes quite easily in a plate of fettuccine. The flavors were wonderfully vibrant, and no one second guessed me for the rest of the evening. But even when they don't say anything, the throbbing, ever prominent thought still bothered me. Like a replay on a broken record, I kept hearing the doctor's words.

I have cancer, and only a few months left to live.

How can I celebrate when that is the only thought on my mind?