When it rains, it pours.

Sunday, February 6th

My mom celebrates her {age omitted} birthday. Friends and family dressed in green and gold gather at the house. The smell of tailgate food wafts through the house. The sounds of laughter are equalled only by cheers as the Packers win the Superbowl.

My brother and sister-in-law anxiously await the results of a home-pregnancy test. 3 minutes later, a pink line appears and they know that they are expecting baby number two. With a sparkle in their eyes and a smile on their faces, they snap a photo of Chase, their son, and send it to family and friends.

Wednesday, February 9th

My sister and I plan a post-college graduation spring break when she comes to Texas to visit. The sun, the sand, the surf, the margaritas. I start dreaming about South Padre Island.

Friday, February 11th

The results come back for my dad's final PET scan. His scans no longer light up like a Christmas tree. His doctor gives my family the greatest news...cancer is gone. A weight is lifted. And we all breathe a collective sigh of relief from a distance. I celebrate with wine and some rich chocolate dessert after a dinner out with Brock. He knows how relieved I am and wants this to be special. A year and a half of worrying and roller coaster emotions is over. And I can finally breathe. My dad feels amazing and starts working out again. His relief is palpable over the phone.

___________________________

Life changes in the blink of an eye.

Wednesday, February 16th

A Windsor knot. Something my dad should be able to do in his sleep. He's worn a tie every day for what seems like forever. But he can't tie a Windsor knot. He can't feel his left foot so he shuffles to avoid falling. His vision blurs. He can't focus. He knows something is wrong. And so does my mom. She insists that he go to the doctor. And he can't help but agree.

Thursday, February 17th

My dad lies still within the MRI. I call my mom in the evening and her voice doesn't sound right. I knew from a simple hello that something is devastatingly wrong. The doctors think stroke or brain tumor, she says, the only words she gets out before the tears start. Tomorrow, she says. Tomorrow we'll know for sure. Tomorrow we'll find out whether the dreams of a life yet to be lived are shattered.

Friday, February 18th

27 years ago, Jodi walks down the aisle. John stands at the front, looking back with love at his bride. Although a typical 1980s wedding with its fair share of fashion disasters, she is beautiful and he has never looked more handsome. This day is their anniversary. This day the results of the MRI reveal a large mass on his brain stem. This day should have been about flowers and kisses and I love yous. This day the doctors are amazed that he is able to breathe on his own, much less walk and talk. This day her heart breaks.

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Tuesday, February 22nd

My dad continues his daily tradition of having coffee with his mom before he heads into the office. He sits at the table in my grandmother's kitchen and tells her how afraid he is. In her stoic nature, she sits quietly, listening, as her tears betray her. He tells he loves her and will see her tomorrow before patting the dog and heading to work. The house is too quiet. The silence is deafening. Her head pounds with thoughts of losing her son. It should be me, she thinks. She can't take it any more. Can't take being in this house alone with her thoughts. She grabs her purse, but leaves her cane. Gets into the car and drives.

She finds herself at a thrift store. She could lose herself there. She collects historic, eccentric, and sometimes just down right odd items. And this is a treasure trove. But it's icy. And she falls. Her ankle shatters and she is rushed to the emergency room. So now she sits in a hospital bed, a few doors down from the room her son had just occupied, and can't think of being anywhere else but her quiet house.