Mom has a brain tumor.
My 16 year-old brother had been tasked with breaking the news. I collapsed in on myself. That seems to be what I always do when being told horrifying, life-changing news. Mom and Dad were afraid of telling me themselves. They saw me as fragile, easily broken. My brother is my favorite person in the world and I’m sure they believed the news would be easiest to take when spoken through my brother’s voice.
The doctor says that it doesn’t look like cancer. They think they can remove it. Mom will be ok.
My brother then handed the phone to my mother. The moment I heard her voice I began sobbing. She asked if I wanted her to postpone the surgery until I got home. I should have said “yes” but the calmness of my brothers voice and my mother’s soothing words made it sound routine. Of course she would be ok. I told her to go ahead with the surgery and I would be there the next night. She would see me when she woke up.
I love you so much. So, so much. You are the best mom in the world. I will see you tomorrow.
It takes three planes to get to South Dakota. A full day. When my last plane landed I had to wait a half-hour for a terminal to open. Such a small airport. I busied myself with the newest issue of Stuff Magazine. I loved their silly articles. I told myself that it was alright to laugh. That everything was ok outside of the plane. I never let myself consider the possibility that something might go wrong during the surgery. I never imagined Dad would be standing in the terminal, holding onto my uncle, trying to figure out the right way to tell me she wouldn’t be waking up.
