Liam went on to serve his country too, but in a much different capacity. His high school years were spent as the president of the robotics club and all the various tech clubs — he even created a few clubs to satisfy his tastes. My handsome, self-proclaimed nerd. Those clubs paid off in a roundabout way when his hobbies landed him in federal custody and prison bound for pecking his way into the backdoors of government main frames that shouldn’t have been penetrable by anyone, much less a high school kid with a niche for “hacking.”
In lieu of a hefty sentence and lifetime felon badge, he landed a job, followed by full ride scholarship offers to several tech schools…he pursued more than one, of course. That was Liam.
We married right out of high school and lived the proverbial dream. By day, we were young college students studying for the next final; by night, we were passionate lovers. Those were some of the best days of our lives — we didn’t have a care in the world.
College came and went, each of us moving onto the next stage of life with degrees in hand — Liam had several — ready to plan a family and take on the world. Liam continued his work on various government contracts while starting a security firm with his brothers as they each made their way back home, re-entering civilian life.
I helped them with menial tasks as they got off the ground, but that didn’t last long. Liam and I spent years tossing caution to the wind, not concerned about pregnancy. If it happened, cool. If it didn’t happen, cool. There was that universe again, playing it’s part by sending the stork our way.
Here’s another one of those blessings that comes with consequences. The happiest day of our lives was the day we found out we were pregnant. It was also the day we found out I was dying…the first time.
With that diagnosis came opinion after opinion as to how I should proceed. Recommendations — that’s what they called it. I didn’t like their recommendations because they began and ended with terminating the pregnancy we’d waited so long for.
Science is funny. They say it’s fact when most of said science is followed up with “we think.” They thought carrying to term and starting treatment after would be a bad idea, but they didn’t know — so much for science. They also didn’t know if starting treatment immediately would increase my odds. There were a hell of a lot of I don’t knows to make such a permanent decision.
With all the scientific facts and I don’t knows heavily weighing against each other and their alternatives, I made my choice. I chose her. Reagan. My smart and wickedly sassy little redhead.
Our world turned upside down for a while — like the inside out and backward kind of upside down. I was postpartum, going through aggressive treatment to fight the cancer with a newborn who had colic and liked to be held — a lot. Let me be clear with some of my own science…that shit doesn’t mesh.
It was certainly not how we envisioned starting our family — it was damn hard in the beginning. Not only did I have the full arsenal of side effects to deal with, there was guilt. Nobody prepared me for that, and there were days where it was worse than those side effects. I was bedridden, weak, always so tired. I wanted to be with my daughter and she clearly wanted me, but some days, it was literally impossible.
I knew I made the right choice. She was meant to be here, to be with our family — hell, as cliché as it sounds, she completed us. But as much as all that was true, I felt like I was failing her. I was failing Liam. I wasn’t used to being so sedentary, so dependent, and so…miserable.
As much as it felt like a sentence, it was also my motivation. I dug deep, found strength I didn’t know I possessed, and fought my damnedest. She deserved the best of me, and this was the worst of me. After all we went through to have her, all the sacrifices we made, the gamble we rolled…I wasn’t giving up. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. And it paid off.
I swear I spent a year in bed, and if I never have to drink a cup of broth again, it’ll be too soon. But I didn’t complain. It was all worth it because those odds the doctors tossed my way — you know, the facts — I beat them all — every last one. I had my life back, albeit a new life, and I wasn’t looking back. The past was right where it belonged, and I had my eyes on the prize. My family. My miracle. My daughter.
Remission is a beautiful word and I danced in its glory to the point my husband nearly had a heart attack. It took a while, but he finally came around and didn’t panic every time I sneezed. Our life was back on track. We were back to that fairytale. We were living the dream.
We beat the odds and didn’t take a single moment for granted. We lived every day, every minute, second by second. We were the luckiest people in the world.
It was one of those blessings again — but I forgot my blessings always came with a price.
2
3 years later…
In the blink of an eye…we had a three-year-old. A busy, full of energy, independent, fiery redhead of a three-year-old. We had found our new normal and ran with it after that magic word remission. Life was good. It was more than good.
Liam and his brothers’ small start-up didn’t stay small for long. They were good at what they did — the best. In a short window of time, they became a highly sought after, high-end security firm. Their client list spanned from Hollywood to Washington DC and across international waters. I wasn’t surprised.
More and more, I found myself tending to the toddler solo while Liam was away on a job — some were daunting rescue missions. I spent many days and nights on the edge of my seat, waiting for his return. He always did.
We had been so fortunate to get a second chance at life together and we didn’t waste a minute. Well, except those days and nights spent on edge waiting for him to come home safe and sound. I knew how this worked — the blessings and the not blessings thing. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and reveal the price for getting my second run at this life thing. What I hadn’t realized is the shoe had already dropped and there was no picking it back up this time.
Toddlers are…work. It’s that stage where they’re coming into their own, discovering who they are, gaining independence…but still need you to make their lunch and wipe their butt. To say they’re a challenge is an understatement. Especially my daughter. Stubborn is the socially acceptable term or spirited. Screw socially acceptable — my daughter was a pain in the ass. But I loved it. She was fiercely confident, and loving — pulling your face closer by the hair to give you a big kiss and say I love you is sweet, right?
I wouldn’t trade that time for anything. I felt a little guilty because though we missed Liam, and weren’t complete without him, I got extra time with my girl. I always felt like I was making up for the hard times when I couldn’t be the mother she deserved — even if it was exhausting.
I think I knew months before I was willing to admit. It was becoming more exhausting the older Reagan got, not easier. Handful or not, needing to nap more with a toddler than with a newborn seemed backward. So did having trouble walking home from the park we’d been going to since forever. I started driving to the park and still needed those little naps.
Something was wrong. I knew it was that other shoe dropping. I just didn’t want to admit it. I refused to. So, I went on without worry — there was no reason to…yet.
There were a slew of long-term diagnoses that came with being a cancer survivor. My body fought and won the war — there would be fall out at some point, and it was quite possible that’s all this was. Post war battles. It could be a minor issue with a simple fix.
I’d worry when I had to — if I had to.
I was naïve.
I was living in denial.
Subconsciously, I knew what I was facing, but consciously, I chose to ignore it.
When you live through something like I did, you know. You just…know. But as they say, ignorance is bliss — so I relished in that ignorance and danced in its bliss because…what else was I to do?
Face reality? Worry over something that wasn’t defined or attached to me…yet? Go down a slipp
ery slope of depression inevitably waiting for me on the other side of my mindfulness? No thanks. Been there, done that.
I’m here now, despite the fatigue, living my best life with the second chance I’d been given. I wasn’t going to waste it on assumptions and an inkling of fear. I’m wiser now, having gone through the trenches and come out the other side semi-unscathed. I’m better at disguising my pain now too…
Liam was out of town when I got the call.
I’d made all my appointments and gone through all the tests, and it was like…I just knew. When you go to the doctor for anything, you can count on hanging out in the waiting room a good thirty minutes past your appointment time and several weeks for xyz specialist to get you in, then the lab seemed to take an eternity. Not this time.
I had all my testing done and was back for the results in a matter of days…not weeks, or even months. There was an urgency there that told me my intuition was pretty spot on. Of course it was — this wasn’t the good kind of lottery, and I was really good at winning the bad one.
My time was up. That blessing thing was coming due. Time to pay the piper, whoever the hell they were. This was how it worked — the barter, the trade, the deal we make with the fucking universe — and somehow, I’d gotten the shittiest hand to play. It was back.
“Cassidy,” Dr. Rick Mendoza started, “how long have you suspected there’s been a…problem?”
“Oh, over three years. Around when I sat in this chair the first time,” I said with a snort.
I didn’t do serious well, and Rick was being serious. Serious was never good with Mendoza. He was my Oncologist and general expert on all things medical the first time around. He was a friend of the family, having served with some of my brothers in law. It seemed they knew everyone. Need a sniper? We know a guy. Need a mechanic? We served with a guy. Need an oncologist to save your life? We got a guy. Like a good guy mafia or something.
Rick chuckled. “Okay, let me rephrase, smartass. How long since…oh…remission.”
I continued to wear my cocky smirk, unable to find the right sarcasm to toss back. I don’t know why I do this — stuff gets serious, I get…not serious. Deflecting, maybe? Delaying the inevitable? I know what he’s about to tell me, I just don’t know to what degree my sentence is about to be delivered, and I’m quite certain no one gets as lucky as I did the first time around, much less a second.
Why couldn’t he just send me a text or drop a card in the mail: It’s back. Good luck. We don’t have a pill for that.
“That long?” he said when I didn’t answer.
I nodded.
“Okay.” He shrugged.
“Last time, I wasn’t supposed to beat it,” I finally said. “Especially after waiting until Reagan was born to deal with it.”
It was his turn to nod.
“But I beat it.” I looked to my hands, twiddling in my lap. I always did that when I was nervous. What an odd quirk. Why did I do that? “You told me I was lucky. You also told me—”
“That we needed to watch you close because it was aggressive the first time, and if it came back, it would be with a pissed off vengeance,” Rick finished.
“Yeah,” I said, awkwardly pointing at Dr. Mendoza like he’d just won a prize. “That.”
“Cass.” Rick leaned forward over his desk, perched on his elbows with his hands folded. He let out a big telling sigh, and I knew what he was about to say. “It’s back.”
Here I was, nodding again. It was all I could muster up. I came in here expecting to hear those two tiny, but life changing words, so you’d think I’d have a response prepared. Something like “which treatment are we starting with and for how long?” Or, “what about all that media about smoking weed kills cancer.”
I guess I had prepared because what I said even shocked me, “How much time do I have left?”
“We have options, Cass,” Rick reassured, as if options changed the inevitable.
“Don’t we always?” I winked. “How much time, Mendoza?”
“A year, maybe two if we hit it hard. And that’s a guess, Cassidy. Your last annual checkup was clean — now, it’s not.”
“That was only a little over a year ago,” I offered, as if he didn’t already know that as my medical chart sat wide open in front of him.
“Cass. It’s aggressive. This time, it’s…everywhere.”
“Okay.” I grabbed my purse from the seat next to me and stood from my chair. “Just…uh, have your office call with the schedule and…uh, I’ll be there.”
“We need to figure out which…”
I put up my hand to interrupt and nodded with a grin. “I trust you. You guys work out the best plan and let me know. You’re the expert.”
“I’m really sorry.” He said. “We are going to do absolutely everything we can for you.”
I smiled, “I know.” Then I made my way to the door.
Just before I left, I turned, and said, “I need a week to prepare. Schedule whatever we need to do after a week.”
“Of course.” Rick said.
It was interesting as I took in his pained expression — he seemed more upset than I felt. Maybe it was shock, or still some of that denial I had been clinging to, but I didn’t feel…anything. I was just sort of…numb.
I got in my car, tossed my things to the passenger seat, and drove off. I wasn’t really sure how, but I ended up in a parking lot of an abandoned building in the industrial side of the Foundry District. It was an old part of town the city had been revitalizing and breathing new life into — and somehow, I landed in the part that must’ve been the exception. No new life there. Ironic.
I sat in my car and stared at the river. I couldn’t say there was a single thought flooding my mind — it was like I didn’t have any questions or ideas to mull over. I didn’t even have an emotional response, one way or the other, to feel. I was just…there. Watching the water drift by, not a soul around. I was lost, sitting in my car, absent of thoughts, without a care in the world…I thought.
I had no idea what this was. Surely it was a reaction of sorts to the news I’d just received, but it was an empty reaction. That was the only way I knew how to describe it. It was that whole numb thing, but more than that, it was surreal — empty — emotionless — motionless — other than the river. It was odd.
I didn’t feel a damn thing. Nothing. I was dying, and that didn’t feel like anything. How was that possible? I should have burst into tears the moment I heard. I should have been angry. I should have hurt and felt cheated and hated Dr. Mendoza for ruining my life…or what was left of it. But I didn’t.
I just sat there. Watching the water. Oblivious to the point of near panic. Now, there was something. Panic was a response; it was feeling something — fear. It was…something. But how odd, I thought, that the only thing frightening me at that time was the fact that I literally didn’t feel.
I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t. I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t. I wanted to feel sorry for myself. But I didn’t. What was that? Maybe shock? Maybe I had expected the diagnosis and my heart and mind had already dealt with it and I was just okay with it all? Perhaps I was on the brink of a mental break and all I needed was a soft corner to rock in while I hugged my knees tightly to my chest. Maybe that was it… Maybe that…
I didn’t know how long I sat there. It had to be an hour or two. My stare shifted from the river to the digital clock on my dash, and that was when it hit me. Seeing the time — realizing the time that had passed — it was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. It represented more than hey, it’s almost dinner time, you better get your dying ass home. It represented what I’d lost, what had been wasted, and what I had left.
Time. It was a thieving measure of a life I’d lived, one I had left to live, and one that was coming to an end. How odd that a glance at the clock in my car had more of an impact on me than the words “it’s back,” or “hey, you’re dying.” Maybe it had been that shock thing I’d been hovered under
for the past few hours was wearing off.
Maybe that time was up too. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more ignoring. It was time to face it — face my reality and go live the rest of my life because…time.
The other shoe had dropped, the extra time I’d been given was up, and it was time to pay the price because that was how this shit worked, right? I already knew that — decided that — prepared for that. That was just how these things worked for me. I’d already established that.
Reagan crossed my mind, then Liam. A flood of memories played like a highlight reel, hitting me like a brick wall, leaving me in pain — a pain I’d never known or experienced, and this wasn’t my first rodeo.
A glance at the clock led to my family and ended in a gut-wrenching pain. This was it. It was happening. I was feeling and wished I could turn back time because I’d rather not feel this. I would die from this pain much faster than any fucking cancer.
I jumped in my seat, startled by a haunting sound I couldn’t identify. I looked out the window, straight to the river, and saw nothing, no source of noise. I searched around me, using my side mirrors…nothing. It was the rearview mirror that revealed the source of that terrifying hollow sound.
It was me.
I was screaming, or perhaps crying. I watched my reflection as the sobs poured out of me. There it was. The emotional response I had been looking for. It was unending. It was guttural. It was soul wrenching sorrow engulfing my very being.
My hands ached, drawing my attention, as I gripped the steering wheel with such intensity, my knuckles cracked, and I was certain my bones were next. I slammed my fists against the steering wheel, feeling the physical pain it caused to my core while the moans of pain filled my ears until they began to ring. I needed that pain. I needed it to replace the pain in my chest that had to be my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
Reagan and Liam…they were my heart — they were the pain I was feeling. I had dealt with what I knew was coming. I’d had days, weeks, and even months to prepare for those words Dr. Mendoza shared. I’d been ready for them, almost to the point of cocky, like I knew the secret long before it was out. I hadn’t prepared for this, though. I hadn’t prepared for what this would mean for my little girl and my other half.
Brother's Keeper V: Wylie (the complete series BOX SET): NEW RELEASE + Series Box SET included! Page 55
