“It stopped me in my tracks. There was no way. I clicked out to see if it was an error, but it was still there. I blinked my eyes furiously to make sure I was seeing it right, and I was. I held my hand to my mouth and covered it. He is dead. How can it be possible a dead man could be tagging me in a post? My eyes began to burn from trying not to cry. I could not believe what I was seeing.”
“My 16-year-old daughter pointed to each of us. She put out her hand, palm up. No lie, I was confused. Why did she have her hand out? Did she want a high-five? Was she looking for money? There had to be something wrong. She placed them on the table, screen down, and then made eye contact with us. I mean, ACTUAL eye contact. I stared at her, hanging onto every-single-word.”
“She cautiously hugged his leg. He wrapped his arms around her. ‘Hi, Daddy.’ He pulled her in tighter. I’m sure he was afraid his voice would break, or the tears would flow. She left, like I asked her to. By the time I made it back to his hospital room, he couldn’t breathe. I was confused. ‘He will not make it through the night.’ I shook my head. ‘Impossible.’ He was fine just 20 minutes before when our daughter was here.”
“Everything was running smoothly until she came upon my bottle of wine. Apparently, they don’t sell alcohol until 7:00 a.m. She said I could wait. After all, it was only 23 minutes. ‘Mmmhmmm, she’s waitin’ on the alcohol.’ I started waving and threw in some ‘hey’s!’ But then Shirley started telling me about her life. I began crying in line.”
“I had a few drinks. Judge me if you want, but I’m allowed. I’ve been 21 for 26 years now, so I’m legal. Wasn’t driving. Not bothering anybody. But, we got lost on the way back. It may have had something to do with my favorite two-word phrase: Mer-lot. Then my daughter called. ‘Hello?’ I over enunciated my words, trying to stand in place, giggling.”
“The first birthday I spent with my husband, I turned 16. I remember where we went, what I was wearing. It was the first time he really held my hand. There was something magical about it. It was fall. We were coming out of a hot summer, the night air was cool. There was nobody else I wanted to spend it with than him. The last birthday I spent with him was my 43rd. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. Nothing has been the same since.”
“When I woke up, I noticed I had an email from my mom. Usually, those entail some kind of funny joke or forwarded message, but this time, she needed information. Specifically, my kids’ social security numbers so she can set up accounts for them to be ‘transferable upon (her) death.’ Wait, what?”
“Someone along the way decided to label us as ‘adults.’ Now we’re required to work and pay bills. We have to go to parent-teacher conferences and figure out Common Core. And some days, I just don’t want to. Some days, I just want to go back to when the nights were long, and the phone calls were longer. But, most importantly, I want to go back to when my husband was alive.”
“From the moment we strode in, to the moment we left, we were in tears. I don’t mean little, drippy tears. I mean big, fat, mascara stained tears. Some whispered as they watched. The ‘Indian Prince’ Doctor nervously smiled. The entire chemo ward waited to see what would happen next. We weren’t crying in pain. Oh no. We were laughing so hard we were crying. I remember being here with my husband after he was diagnosed. I was nervous how I’d feel. But you know – go big or go home.”
“Not even my mom could deny there was actually something wrong with me. She rushed my calamine-soaked body to the doctor. My eyes got as big as sand dollars and my life flashed before my eyes. The only time I had ever heard of a Scarlet Fever diagnosis was on an episode of ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ I didn’t know what to do. So, I did the only thing I could think of in that moment. I cried. My mom slid into the bed next to me.”
