I would have never, in a million eons, thought that my mom would be diagnosed with not only brain cancer, but Stage 4 brain cancer.
I simply couldn't find it in me to stay here knowing that Mom was completely alone back home, sitting in a blank room being pumped full of all kinds of different chemicals in a desperate attempt to slow the rapidly growing tumor that was killing her from the inside out.
There was barely even enough time for goodbyes. Knowing that Mom's time was short, I packed up as much stuff as I could within a day and a half and, as much as I hated to say it, left my dreams behind.
Deep down in my heart, I knew that Mom would downplay this as much as she possibly could, saying that it was nothing but a little cancer- but there's no such thing. I knew that she would want me to stay in Boston and finish school. Mom would always tell me to listen to your heart, and it was telling me that I needed to be with her. Maybe, I needed her more than she needed me.
"Keep in touch, okay?" Willow wrapped her tiny arms around me, our voices echoing off the concrete walls of the parking garage. I simply nodded, the lump in my throat stopping anything from coming out. The past day and a half had been filled with nothing but violent sobs and anger outbursts. Wondering why Mom, a beautiful, kind, generous being would be hit with something so fucked up. Why do bad things happen to good people?
"Stay out of trouble, Willow" I forced my lips into a painted, close-lipped smile as I tucked a frizzy brown curl behind my ear.
The image of campus fading into mere nothingness caused tears to well in my eyes, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting against my cheek, elbow resting against the open window as I attempted to just focus getting back to Mom. All hope wasn't gone yet, however, there was always Ohio State. It was my second choice, after all. But the idea of having to deal with the same people that I vowed never to see again made me want to stay as far away as possible from that campus.
The thirteen-hour drive made for more than enough time to think. I thought about Mom- about that Disney Princess lunchbox and its matching backpack, how her face would disappear behind that giant Polaroid camera, her chafed and calloused hands running down my spine when I couldn't sleep, the sound her gentle voice that woke me up every single morning. I would turn around and open my eyes, that kind smile held on her face as her tired, exhausted eyes lit up when I would mirror that same exact smile. It was almost as if I could smell the Strawberries and Cream shampoo, like it still lingered in this car from the driving lessons and late-night ice cream runs. I simply could not describe the feeling knowing that scent would leave soon, along with that beautiful, slightly graying, frizzy auburn hair that I would always stick my face in.
I thought about Leon. Mom always loved Leon. Sometimes on a Saturday night after too much wine, she would go on hour-long tangents on how she always wanted Leon and I to end up together. She would never let me forget the first day he came over to play, it was the third day of First Grade. I couldn't remember any of it, but Mom always said that she never expected me to choose Cops and Robbers over House.
Mom taught me how to put Neosporin and Band-Aids on Leon's scraped knees and elbows, how to make an icepack in under 30 seconds, how to pick pine needles and dry leaves out of sandy blonde hair. When Leon didn't want to go home, Mom was more than happy to make the phone call to his mom and set up the sleeping bag. She would aide us in the building of blanket forts, bringing us pizza and ice cream as we demolished the old sheets with chocolate syrup and pepperoni grease.
There were very few times when we would actually fall asleep in my room. Most of the time, we would pass out after our sugar highs, comic books sprawled all around us as we well asleep under the shelter of couch cushions, kitchen chairs, and half a dozen blankets.
When we woke up, Mom, without a doubt, would always greet Leon with, "Out of the Lion's Den, I see". She never stopped saying that, even when we got older and we would actually spend the night in my room. This time, however, passing out with open textbooks and study guides sprawled around us rather than X-Men and Avengers Comics.
In the rare occasion that Leon woke up before me, he would always sneak downstairs to make coffee before anyone else was awake. Mom always beat him to it, however. Dressed in that server uniform that she hated with every fiber of her being, frizzy hair tied up into a ponytail, leaning against the counter with her hands wrapped around her favorite pink mug.
Neither Leon or Mom would ever tell me what they would talk about down there, always saying that it was top secret Mother-Boyfriend conversation only to be talked about in those very early hours of the morning. I did notice, however, that every time Leon would return upstairs from these top-secret conversations, he seemed much more... calm. He wasn't uptight, worried about what may happen next; his shoulders would relax every time he breathed out, his face wasn't scrunched in thought. He was just content, often waking me up with a cup of coffee on the nightstand and a gentle kiss against my forehead.
I like to think that had something to do with Mom.
