Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Dear God, please let it be okay.
In a few hours, which I refuse to count because that will only increase my panic, I have to take Everleigh back to the hospital to get the finalized results from her tests.
I know our lives will change forever once the sun comes up.
I think the worst is not knowing exactly what we’re fighting. The possibilities are endless. I caught myself googling things last night, but that only made it worse. I didn’t even understand the majority of what I read and what I did read, I wish I hadn’t.
A cold chill lazily drifts through my body and I shudder, remembering some of the pictures and language that was used. None of that should be used in the same breath as a child.
My child.
I unscrew the lids and listen to her singing “Sugar” by Maroon 5 in her bedroom. It both breaks and heals my heart. I keep holding on to some thread of hope that’s she not truly sick. That it’s a mistake. My grandma used to say that God would never give you more in a day than you can handle. If that’s true, this diagnosis can’t be right. Because I can’t handle it. Not my baby girl.
I listen to her sing and I know that she’s dancing in that goofy way, like me, around her bedroom. I know her smile, the way her right cheek has a hint of a dimple, better than the back of my hand. I’m sure the sparkle in her beautiful eyes is shining and I don’t want to dim that. Not now and not ever.
That’s why I haven’t told her.
Even though she’s five, the word cancer would scare her. I don’t want her to worry or be afraid of what’s to come. I know the feeling of being little like that and worrying about things that are way bigger than you are. I want her to have something I never did: the feeling of safety, of being loved, of knowing she has someone that will make it all okay one way or the other.
Because, after all, this whole thing might be a mistake.
I set a piece of paper and a watercolor brush by our chairs and call for her. She comes in, a wide smile . . . and with black circles under her eyes. My heart pulls in my chest. I try to focus on the good, on the grin, but I can’t help but see the bad.
“Are we painting?” She climbs up into her seat and brushes her hair off her shoulders.
“I thought maybe it would be fun. We haven’t painted in a while.”
“I love to paint,” she says, dipping her brush into the tub of yellow.
She swirls it around on the page. “At school, Mrs. Yeryar painted a tree. And we all put our thumbs in paint and put them on the tree like leaves. You know what I mean?”
I nod, watching her rinse the brush off in the cup of water I placed between us.
“It’s really cool. It’s like a rainbow tree! Mrs. Yeryar says it’s our class family tree. It’s very pretty.”
“I bet it is.”
She sets the paper aside and gets out a fresh sheet. Carefully, she draws a brown line in the middle of the page and then thickens it. Her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth in concentration while she drags her brush out to the sides.
She drops it and dips her thumb into the yellow jar. She presses it very lightly against the paper. I hand her a tissue and she wipes off her thumb, appreciating her work. “Now your turn, Mommy.”
I dip my thumb into the red paint and press it against the paper on the other side.
Ever studies the paper. She grabs her brush and dips it in the blue paint. Her eyes are narrowed in total concentration as she draws a blue swirl at the top of the page.
“That’s Daddy,” she says. “I made him a cloud so he’s high in the sky and can watch us.”
My heart can’t take it.
I stand up, kiss the top of her head, then lay the sheet by the stove to dry. My chest has a complete hole gaping in the center of it, like my entire soul is bleeding out. Everyone I’ve loved in my life has left me or been taken away from me. My daughter should be an exception to the rule.
“I’m going to paint a monkey,” Ever says, a laugh in her voice. “That’s what Uncle Crew calls me. Maybe I’ll give this to him!”
“That would be nice.”
Crew.
I haven’t seen him since I left him in Ever’s bed on Friday night. He called yesterday, but Ever was standing next to me and I didn’t want to answer his questions in front of her. I was also embarrassed about having broken down in front of him and needed space between us again.