“This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.”
I look at her, confused.
My face falls. My sadness from moments ago is replaced with hurt. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t move any closer, giving her the space she needs.
“This!” she screams, holding her arms out. “It’s like everything came crashing down. My fear. She’s gone and I have this stupid heart condition and … and that could be me one day! You knew that was a fear of mine and yet …”
“Yet what?” My voice sounds as angry as I feel.
“You still pressed the idea of having a family.”
“Wait just one minute.” I step around the foot of the bed and over to her.
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Her voice sounds broken. I can hear the pain behind her words, but I ask anyway.
“Into what?”
“This life. You knew I was afraid. You knew it scared me. I wasn’t the marrying type, but you still asked!”
“Hold on!” I step closer to her and she backs away into the corner of the wall.
“No. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
I’m so confused. Hurt even. I don’t understand why she’s doing this.
“Amy! She’s gone, and look who is left behind to feel the pain. Ethan and Brandon. Her family, friends … me! You don’t know what it’s like to watch your nightmare come to life! I told you my biggest fear was leaving my loved ones behind. What happened with Amy, Brandon, and Ethan? That could be us, Parker. I don’t want that.”
“I don’t know!?” I yell and she flinches. We’ve never fought in all our years together. Had disagreements? Of course. But we’ve never raised our voices to one another.
In a flash I’m standing nose to nose with her. “I’ve watched you die in my dreams and I just watched that nightmare be played out in front of me. You wanted this just as much as I did. Don’t you for one second point that finger at me. Fuck, Aundrea. I’m so incredibly and deeply sorry about Amy, and my heart aches for her and her family, but don’t put this all on me. I get that you’re hurt and want to yell at someone, but don’t blame me for the life we both want.”
She slides to the floor, crying. She pulls at her hair then covers her face. “Fuck cancer. I hate what it’s done to me. I hate what it’s done to my friend, and I hate what it’s taken away from her.”
I pull her into my lap. She grabs onto my shirt, clawing at my chest to bring us even closer. She cries hard into my chest, her tears wetting my shirt.
Watching her go through this is unbearable. I know she doesn’t mean what she said. I know she’s hurting and needs to let out her frustration, so I give her what she needs.
I comfort her.
“I’ll never hear her voice again. I’ll never hear her laugh, or see her smile.”
“I know, babe. I know. It’s going to be okay. I got you.”
“Make it stop, Parker. Please make it stop. I don’t want to feel it anymore, please.”
My shoulders shake as I begin to cry with her. “I want to, babe. Lord knows I want to.”
“I saw what my life would be like if my cancer came back, or if I had a heart attack.”
I hold onto her shoulders and look her in the eyes. “No. You did not get a glimpse into your future. You want a glimpse? We’ll drive to St. Paul right now and you can stare long and hard at the woman who is growing our baby. That is your future, Aundrea. Not this. You are going to grow old with me and we’re going to watch our children grow up together.
“I don’t understand why people are taken away from us before they’re ready. But when the path of your life changes, you have to let it. You have to embrace it, Aundrea. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I promise you, everything works out in the end.”
“Sometimes the strong ones need to lean on someone, too. You can’t always be the one to make everything perfect, Dre,” Aundrea whispers to herself as if she’s repeating something someone else told her. I give her time to reassure herself that it’s okay to lean on someone.
Me, I hope.
We sit together and let the tears fall.
We cry for Amy. For the life she’ll never have.
We cry for Brandon. For the wife he’ll never get to hold again.
We cry for Ethan. For growing up without his mother.
I cry for the woman in my arms and all the pain she’s had to endure.
I cry for the woman I thought I lost.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
I’ve been putting off this day, refusing to let reality sink in. Parker’s been coming in and out of our bedroom for the last hour trying to get me out of bed. The funeral is in an hour, but I can’t bring myself to get up. I’ve watched people die around me. It’s hard not to when you get treatment in a room full of people. Some come out on top while others … aren’t so lucky. But I’ve never lost someone so unexpectedly. Let alone someone so close to me.
There’s a light knock on the door.
“Aundrea?” Jean’s voice is quiet. “You ready?”
I turn so I’m facing her and open one eye. She’s wearing a knee-length black dress. Very simple and classic. Very Jean.
“Is anyone ever ready to bury their friend?”
Closing my eye, I let the darkness in, but it can’t quite drown out the sound of footsteps. When the bed dips, I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I try to count the swirls in the texture of our white ceiling, but soon lose count. Jean doesn’t say a word.
I know what she’s doing. She’s waiting for me to open up. To let it out, whatever it is.
I count to ten, then twenty, waiting for the words to form. But they don’t. Tears start when I reach fifty, and when I hit eighty they still haven’t stopped.
Jean takes my hand and lies on her side, facing me. It takes me a few moments, but eventually I turn onto my side. I keep counting as the tears fall. When Jean starts to cry, I close my eyes. I can’t stand the pain in her eyes. Once I reach one hundred, the words come.
“Are you afraid to die?” My voice is scratchy.
“No,” she whispers, wiping her tears.
“Me either.”
“I know.”
“I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
“Death never gets easier.”
I take a deep breath before letting everything inside of me out. Jean somehow always gets me to open up, even if I don’t make any sense when I do.
“It’s not fair that people have to die before we get it. Amy has talked me through so much these last couple months, and helped me see the beauty in everything. She’s really made me want overcome the fear that’s been holding me back. But, it’s her death that’s finally made me open my eyes. I’ve spent the last three days in a haze, thinking about everything she’s left behind, and that’s not the life I want. It’s not fair that she had to die to really make me see the ramifications of it all. To make me realize that I haven’t been living my life to its full potential these last few months. Like, really living. I’ve been working toward the perfect future, but lately I’ve only looked at the future as if I weren’t in it. I want to be in it, Jean.”
“Then live, Dre. Living was your struggle then. It’s not your struggle now. You’ve always looked at the positives, never letting death knock you down. That’s never been you, so don’t let it start being you now. You’re one of the most courageous women I’ve ever known.”
“Where’s my courage now?” I feel like a coward hiding out in my bed.
Jean jabs me in the chest. “Right here. It hasn’t left you. You’re grieving, and that’s okay. But, it’s also okay to let it out. You don’t need to hide.”
I know she’s right. Even the strongest of us have weaknesses and moments that make us feel small. But I guess you can’t really overcome weakness or fear until you’re faced with them.
I close my eyes for a moment, then I take a deep breath.
“I’m ready.”
I fidget with my thumb ring and tap my feet as we get near the church. Parker doesn’t say anything. No one does.
Jean and Kevin sit in silence in the back seat and Parker focuses on the road.
When we pull into the parking lot, Parker opens my door. He takes my hand, giving me the support I need.
Everyone’s in black except me. Amy hated black, so the last thing I wanted to do was wear it to her funeral. Instead, I chose blue—her favorite color.
We find seats in the back pew. I can’t fathom sitting up close, being next to the casket. I watch as people walk up and pay their respects to Amy’s family.
Parker looks over at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to pay your respects?” he asks, quietly.
“Not now.” I will, but I’m not ready to say goodbye in front of all these strangers.
The organ begins, sending chills down my spine. I know some people find it beautiful, but something about the haunting music makes me uneasy.
When it’s time for the eulogy, I’m surprised to see Brandon stand. “Good morning. Thank you all for being here today and helping Ethan and me celebrate Amy’s life. Amy and I met in college. Some would call it love at first sight, and others would call it a game of cat and mouse. I was the cat.”
A few people laugh quietly. “Amy saw nothing but good in the world and in those around her. She was always happy and proud of the life she lived, the woman she had become, and the family she created. Everything she did was for Ethan and me. There was no decision she made lightly, and she always made the time for what mattered most to her. The world is missing a great woman, but today isn’t about her loss, or saying goodbye. Amy didn’t want that. Today is about celebrating her life. She’ll be missed by her family and friends, and most of all by our amazing son.”
He pauses, looking over at the casket. “Amy, baby, I promise to watch over him, guide him into to a fine young man, and stand by his side proudly. I’ll support him, love him, and tell him every single day how much his mommy loved him. There won’t be a day that you won’t be thought of. I love you.”
He steps down and wipes away his tears. His speech was sweet and simple, but it was spot on.
Parker takes my hand. There are tears in his eyes, and I gently wipe them away.
The rest of the funeral is nice—well, as nice as a funeral can be. Even though I only knew Amy for a short time, it feels like she’s always been a part of my life.
I watch cars driving away from the cemetery as I sit in the cool dirt. Parker stepped away, giving me space to say goodbye.
I run my hands through the dirt, trying to find a coherent thought. “I’m not sure what I’ll do without you. I feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself. Every time I saw you, you were stronger than the time before and that was such an inspiration to me. You had this aura around you. This amazing ability to see the good in everything, no matter the hurt or pain. You always saw the beauty. I don’t think I can bring myself to say goodbye because, when it comes to our friendship, I don’t think goodbye is for us.”
“Aundrea?”
Startled, I turn to see Brandon blocking the sunlight. “Brandon.”
“Thank you for coming today.”
I look down at my empty hands. “Of course.”
He holds out an envelope. “Amy wrote this for you and asked that I give it to you when she passed.”
“Thank you,” I choke, taking the paper from him.
He turns away from me and I call after him. “Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” He gives me a smile. It’s small, but it’s there. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I grieved in March when we realized there was nothing more we could do. I’ve had the last few months to come to terms with the pain and enjoy the time with my wife. I got to grieve with her, which helped. So … Aundrea? I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry she didn’t tell you and you didn’t get to grieve with her. To celebrate her life with her.”
My eyes flutter closed and fresh tears streak my face. When I’m left alone I open the letter with trembling hands.
Aundrea,
If you’re reading this, you know, and I wish I could have told you. Please believe me when I tell you I tried many times, but telling you wouldn’t have made any of this easier.
I never told you about stopping treatment because I didn’t want to feed your fear. I didn’t want you to see my life in a negative way because it’s been nothing but beautiful to me. I got something most people don’t get when they’re faced with death. I got time. I was able to plan and spend time with my loved ones. We were able to prepare and I’ll be forever thankful for the time I got with them.
People take life for granted. They don’t stop to smell the flowers for no reason, or dance around in the rain because they’re happy. Being alive is a lot more than breathing every day. It’s savoring every moment. It’s getting in as many experiences as you can in the time you have. You don’t know what you have, or what’s missing, until it’s gone. Life is too short. Too short to think about everything that scares you. Too short to wonder what you could be doing, rather than doing it. Too short for regrets.
I don’t believe in chance encounters. I believe people come into our life for a specific reason and that we met so that we could help one another. Learn from each other. I needed you just as much as you needed me, and no words will ever be able to describe how thankful I am for your friendship. I don’t regret one second with you, Aundrea. My life is far from over. It’s just beginning, as is yours. Don’t let go of your dreams. Go after them and have hope. You’re going to get through this and go on to live a long, healthy life with your beautiful family. With your child.
Never be afraid, Aundrea. Life is never guaranteed and you need to enjoy what you have no matter what. I’ll always be with you. Please don’t doubt yourself. You’re so strong, Aundrea. Remember that.
Yours forever,
Amy
Unable to move, I sit there, clutching the letter. I feel so weak. Amy once called me her angel, but really she’s been mine. And I’ll continue to think of her as my guardian angel.
Parker’s hand lightly brushes my shoulder. “Are you ready?”
I glance down at the letter. Life is so unpredictable. It will always be difficult, given my history. Fear will sometimes creep in; get me down. But unless I get back up, I’ll never know if I can defeat it. Amy is right. Living a life not ruled by fear is difficult, but I have Parker standing by my side, helping me. And that makes it so much easier.
It’s time I break down the walls I’ve built. Cancer will always be a part of who I am, no matter how much it sucks or hurts. There’s no way around it, nor is there any point in running from it, but it doesn’t define who I am as a person.
Pain is what keeps my heart alive.
Pain is a reminder of the life I have to be thankful for.
Before I know it, we’re in the heart of the July heat. I haven’t gone back to volunteering at Mayo yet. I know Amy would want me to, but I’m not quite ready.
Parker’s birthday is the last weekend in July and I decided to surprise him with a weekend up north in Brainerd at a small resort on the lake. I thought we could use the time away.
The morning of our first full day here, and Parker’s birthday, the warm morning sun shines through our room, illuminating everything in sight. It’s peaceful being here. Every worry feels a million miles away. It’s just the two of us—no social media, work, family, or problems to get in the way.
I finish my make-up and slip into a colorful sundress, the cotton soft against my skin.
Parker has on plaid blue and white swim shorts and white T-shirt with a surfer standing next to a blue surfboard, which reads, “SAVE A WAVE, RIDE A SURFER.”
“I hope that shirt is intended for me?” I smirk.
“Of, course. Just a friendly reminder that I’m available all day and night if you need a good ride.”
“If?”
&nb
sp; “When, when you need a good ride.”
I give him one of his own winks and blow him a kiss. I tie my hair back in a low bun, slip on my sunglasses, and nod to Parker that I’m ready.
As we eat breakfast I notice that Parker is watching me with interest.
“What?” I ask.
“I was just watching you. And thinking that if we have a boy, I hope he’s into cars like his dad.”
I laugh. “And if we have a girl?”
“I hope she’s as beautiful as her mother.”
“I just care that he or she is healthy.”
Parker looks at me strangely.
“I used to laugh when expectant parents said that. I mean, what parent wouldn’t hope for that? Everyone says it, but now … it has so much more meaning to me.”
“I want that too, babe.”
Suddenly, everything my parents and Genna ever did for me growing up and going through treatment makes complete sense, including my mom’s constant worry and Genna’s hovering when I lived with her briefly. I get it. It never ends.
“I’ll do everything I can to protect our child, Parker. To take all their pain away. I promise.”
“I believe you.”
I lean over the table and cup his face lightly in my hands. “I love you.”
When the time comes for our first OB appointment, I drive so Parker can have a couple of hours to relax. He’s been working extra hard at the clinic, taking on more hours. We’re trying hard to avoid taking out a loan.
I don’t think I allowed him much relaxation, though, with the radio blaring and my off key singing to every pop song that plays. My parents didn’t bless me with a great singing voice, even though I like to pretend it’s out of this world.
When Parker looks out of the corner of his eye at me, I pick up the car charger cord and bring it to my lips. When I begin to sing into it as if it’s a microphone, he breaks into a laughing fit. It isn’t before long I’m joining his laughter.
I start to wish I hadn’t driven as we enter downtown Minneapolis. There are way too many one-ways making it extremely confusing to navigate.