Love, Cass

by St. Klaire, Stephanie

  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 slippery 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, ab
sent 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.

  I was leaving and couldn’t bring them with me. They would be alone. Abandoned. Not because of me, but because the cancer was fucking back and robbing them of much more than it was robbing me of. I got to take them with me wherever I went, but when I was gone…I was gone where they were concerned.

  The idea of that was unbearable. Much more so than last time, because at least last time, there had been hope. The only hope I had now was to get a few extra months in. There was no coming out the other side of this like I had before. There was no bonus baby and third chance at life. I was finishing the inevitable like the cancer had simply been on pause and it was time to let it continue to play out. That was the deal, unfair as it was, that was the plan for me.

  Unfortunately, nobody tells you your plan in advance and it’s pretty shitty, if you ask me. It’s my life. I should have some say. I should be considered as well as my family when all of this was decided for me by the almighty, the universe, the ground hog on ground hog’s day…whoever was in charge of this. I guess my life wasn’t really mine, I just had the privileges of seeing it through.

  I continued to cry, curse, and hit the things around me until it wasn’t enough. I jumped from my parked car, leaving the door open and engine running as I ran to the rocky bank at the river’s edge. Falling to my knees, I let that howling sob roll and roll. I threw rocks. I threw sticks. I threw an old shoe that was just lying there.

  When I threw an empty beer bottle I found near my feet, I felt relief in the sound of shattering glass. I related to the shards and splinters scattering among the rocks. Maybe because I was shattered? So many pieces and not a single way to put it back together. There were too many parts, big and small — good luck finding them all.

  I related because that was my life — it had just fallen into a million shards and splinters. Good luck finding all the small pieces to make the whole — they were fading. Tiny splinters of me were slowly disappearing, scattered among the rocky ledge I’d been living. Good luck finding all the pieces. I was fading. Because I was…dying.

  I’d been dying all along. I was on borrowed time as pieces of me scattered along the rocky bank of a river in constant motion. There was that time again. I’d felt it happening. I knew it was coming. I’d been blessed and knew there would be a time to reimburse the grace I was living because as I’ve said, that’s life — it’s a barter.

  If I had known, then I’d been preparing. For myself anyway. Maybe that was all I was supposed to do — prepare myself so I could spend what time I had left preparing them. The journey was now solemnly about them — the family I loved — from this point forward.

  That was why I hadn’t felt anything. Why I couldn’t get angry. Why I hadn’t yelled, screamed, and swore — until I thought of them. I’d been okay with it because I knew my forever was going to be short lived when I’d survived something I shouldn’t have. But they didn’t know our forever was temporary and everything I did from this point forward was going to directly impact their forever with me, despite my absence from it. Does that even make sense?

  On my knees, I laughed at the fact that a shattered beer bottle and digital clock took me to the other side of crazy just so I could feel something — and that my car was still parked and running behind me. Oddly, nobody took the opportunity to jump in and take off – that’s saying something on this side of town. The universe must have done me another solid because that car should have been hauling ass down the freeway like a scene out of one of Liam’s video games by now. It wasn’t…thanks, universe.

  I wiped my face, took to my feet, and gave the fast-flowing river one last glance before going back to my car. It was time to go home. With a quick check in the mirror, I
freshened up with a left-over napkin from lunch and a quick swipe of eyeliner from my bag. I didn’t wear much more than that where makeup was concerned; that made it easy.

  I stopped at the end of the parking lot, ready to pull onto the main road when I noticed an older man standing against the old weathered building that looked as hard and worn as he did. Had he been watching me? Maybe he was the reason my car had been right where I’d left it, still running with door open like a neon sign blaring, “take me, she’s crazy and won’t notice.”

  He approached my car, and I rolled down the passenger side window, despite knowing better. Though his outer appearance fit that of the local riffraff, I wasn’t afraid of his approach.

  “It’s all going to be okay, kid. Hang in there,” he said with a gentle smile and kindness in his steely blue eyes. Then he walked off.

  Was I having a moment? You know, one of those awe-inspired TV moments where the universe, God, or some other celestial being was sending me a message — speaking to me — through this old dude who’d probably seen harder times than most? Was this a lesson where I reflected on all I had, not what I won’t? What did he know that I didn’t?

  Nothing. He didn’t know. I knew. I knew it wasn’t going to be okay — leaving behind a toddler and husband wasn’t okay — dying wasn’t okay. Or maybe it was. Maybe that was the point of this guy’s quick intervention. Maybe it was my job, per se, to make it all okay — I just didn’t know how and didn’t have much time to figure that piece out.

  Or he was too invested in the train wreck he’d been watching and couldn’t look away – felt parting words were in order. Perhaps I was his blessing — those tend to be passed around — and verified his circumstances could always be worse. He could have been that manic crazy train having a tantrum in an abandoned cannery in the seedy part of town — but he wasn’t.