by Wendy Mills
“I’m right here, Momma,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Think about when you’re better, think about all the things we’ll be able to do. You need to get better by graduation so you can come. I need you there, Momma, don’t you leave me.”
She squeezes my hand, and falls asleep.
Jill goes in when I come out, and Miriam says, “Erin, let’s go get some coffee.”
I shake my head, but she is insistent. Finally I let her lead me to the cafeteria and sip at the coffee she puts in front of me.
“Erin, your mom is in a lot of pain,” she says.
“I know, I know,” I say. “She needs to hang on so the doctors can figure out how to make her better. She just needs to hang on.”
Miriam reaches over and holds my hand. “Erin, your mother is hanging on as best she can. For you. She is holding on for you. She is in a lot of pain, and she is dying. There is nothing left for the doctors to do.”
I’m shaking my head, going no, no, no, nonononono.
Miriam continues, her words hitting me like blows. “She is hanging on for you, for you, Erin. It’s hard for mothers to let go, it always is, but you need to tell her it is okay, because she needs to, honey. She needs to let go. She needs to find her peace. She needs to be released from her pain. It’s time for you to say good-bye.”
I start crying, huge, gulping sobs. “I can’t, I can’t give up on her. I’m all she has, she’s all I have. I can’t give up.”
“You’re not giving up, honey. You’re letting go.”
She holds me until I stop crying, and we go back upstairs. Jason knows. He has been through this before, will probably go though it again. Without speaking he takes me into his arms and I fight to keep the tears at bay because I have to be brave. I don’t know if I can do this thing, but I have to be brave.
Jill looks up as I come into the room, and she has been crying. She goes, and I climb onto the bed with Mom and hold her in my arms. Her body feels light and sighing, like a dry whisper with nothing left in it.
“Momma,” I say, and my voice breaks.
She opens her eyes and smiles when she sees me.
“Momma, I’m saying good-bye now. You—you’ve done an awesome job raising me and I will be okay. I will miss you. I will miss you so much, but—but I can do it on my own now. You did your job, you can rest. I’m going to be just fine.” I’m crying, but I make my voice strong so she can hear me, so she believes.
“Rinnie … ,” she says and the tears slip from her eyes. “I love you.”
“I know, Momma, I love you too. And …” I choke back the sobs that threaten to overtake me. “And, it’s time for you to leave, Momma. Let go. Don’t wait around for me any longer. Please. You can let go, I’ll be fine. It’s not good-bye. It’s never good-bye, because we’ll see each other again. You can watch over me, be my angel, until I see you again.”
She reaches up her hand and pushes my hair out of my face. “See you later, alligator …”
“After a while, crocodile,” I say softly.
She falls asleep and I hold her, and wait.
It takes her another day to die, and she is in and out the whole time. But I stay with her, and she knows I am there when she opens her eyes, and I think she knows I am there when she is asleep as well.
I do not need the flatline monitor to know when her soul flies away. A butterfly-wing kiss brushes my forehead, and I lie with her for a while longer, feeling her body grow cold.
I get out of bed. Her eyes are closed, and she is so pale and beautiful, she looks like an angel already.
“I love you, Momma,” I say.
And then I go out to face the rest of my life without her.
Chapter Fifty-One
Nine days after my mom’s funeral, I attend my high school graduation. In the audience are the entire Levinson family, as well as Jill. They leave an empty seat beside Jill where my mom should have been. Jason sits on the other side of it, his face bright with his love for me. I smile at him across the crowd and he mouths me too, knowing what I mean.
As names are called and my proud-looking classmates go onstage to receive their diplomas, I look down at Memaw’s sapphire ring on my finger. I know my mother and Memaw are inside me because my heart is stitched with their love and dreams, creating a unique quilt of lasting beauty. I miss Mom intensely. I miss her with every fiber of my being. But she is gone and I am here, and there is nothing I can do to change that. Mom and Dad and Memaw helped me weave the tapestry of my childhood, and now I must find my own pattern to follow.
I shuffle forward behind Caityln Baer, and above the stadium I see an airplane high in the sky, its engine just a faint thrum in my ears. I think about Mom’s funeral. As I stood beside my mom’s casket, I heard the roar of engines and looked up into the endless blue of the sky, my face touched by the warm sunlight. Led by Tweety Bird, three planes roared overhead in a V. One plane was missing in the formation, three planes when there should have been four. It was Stew’s tribute to my mother, and I thought about how as we go through life we lose people we love, but we also gain some.
Caitlyn turns and gives me a nervous smile. “Hey,” she whispers. “I read your blog. Faith sent out a link to everyone. Wow. Just … wow.”
I smile back. Two days ago, I wrote my first blog entry for the BRCA website. I wrote about Mom’s death, and while it was heart-wrenching, a sense of peace filled me when I wrote the last sentence. I stared at it, thinking about Mom, thinking about what she wanted for me, feeling her fingerprints on the tender surfaces of my heart. Then I pushed the Publish button, sending the blog sailing into the world, like a baby bird flying for the first time. I’m doing it for you, Momma, but I’m doing it for me too.
By last night I had twenty comments, and something thawed in me as I read them and saw how people responded to my words. Courage is not always big and bright and loud; sometimes it’s as silent and small as true words, a smile when you’d rather weep, or getting up every day and living with quiet dignity while all around you life rages. You cannot truly love, live, or exist without courage. Without it you are simply biding time until you die.
I’m not saying I have all the answers. This summer I am going to stay with Aunt Jill as both of us learn to live with our loss, and Jason and Trina have both said they will come and visit me. I will go to college in the fall, but right now I don’t know where. As alone as I’ve felt for a long time, it has been surprising to me how many people have opened their homes and hearts to me.
One day, I know, I will have to make a decision about my BRCA mutation. But I will not make that decision right now. Every tomorrow brings new challenges and joy. Life can be surprising and beautiful and tragic, and I plan on living it to the best of my ability. The days of my life are pearls on a string, some scratched and marred, some lustrous and pure, but all of them mine alone. It’s not the ugliest, or the most beautiful of them, that define me, but all of them together that make me who I am.
“Erin Bailey,” our principal says. I take deep breath and walk across the stage to receive my diploma. The audience gasps. I look and see that every senior has a cell phone out, the screen set to a candle, holding it up toward me.
I smile, but I’m crying too.
I love you, Momma, and I’ll never forget you. But it’s my turn now and here I go. Watch me fly, Momma, watch me fly.
Author’s Note
As I began my research on this story, I was—and am—amazed by the grit and bravery of ordinary people facing the unthinkable. However, I found that some in the BRCA community were uneasy with the subject matter of this book.
First, I was writing about a teenage girl, who I was told should not be even thinking about the breast cancer gene until she was at least eighteen, preferably twenty-one or twenty-five. How, I asked these well-meaning people, can you tell someone not to think about something? I’m sure this advice works for some, perhaps most, and they are able to
go about their normal lives until it is time to tackle the issue of their possible BRCA mutation at an appropriate age. But what about those who can’t stop thinking about it?
Second, these professionals were disturbed by the fact that Erin decided to test through a direct-to-consumer company, rather than through a genetic counselor or a health-care provider. I understand their concerns. In fact, I share them. But books are not written about people who always make the right choices. This story is Erin’s journey; every woman’s journey will be different, and who can fault a teenager’s desire to pursue answers, especially when she is encouraged not to even think about the questions?
When I began this book, I researched one of several companies that offered direct-to-consumer (without a doctor’s order) genetic testing that included the BRCA gene. As of this writing, this company had suspended health-related genetic testing, dependent on FDA marketing authorization. This is a fast-changing and dynamic field, and I believe that for reasons of privacy, personal empowerment, or just plain curiosity, people will want and demand access to this type of personal genetic testing in the future.
It is important to note that at the time that I was researching this book, the company I used as a model only tested for three of the hundreds of known BRCA mutations. This fact was made very clear in their reports. However, if Erin didn’t have one of these select few, she still could have carried another BRCA mutation. This highlights the importance of talking to a qualified medical professional about the results of any genetic test.
Another important note: Erin uses the figure of “up to 80 percent” to describe her lifetime risk of getting breast cancer. This is a fluid number that changes from case to case, but for now, it is a commonly used percentage, and the one that genetic counselors I interviewed were the most comfortable with.
Regardless of whether it is provided through a doctor’s office or through a direct-to-consumer company, genetic testing is here to stay. With courageous celebrities like Angelina Jolie, who openly talked about her BRCA mutation and her decision to undergo prophylactic surgery, more and more people are becoming aware of the role genes play in our health. As genetic testing becomes more common, it is inevitable that there will be serious implications for family members, including children, who will learn about their genetic propensities whether or not they wish to.
For people like Erin, I wonder where this will lead.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Mary Kate Castellani and Caroline Abbey for their invaluable editorial advice (you have no idea how good these chicks are), and the entire Bloomsbury team for making the words on my computer screen look so marvelous in print.
Two doctors, Gloria Morris, MD, PhD, from Mount Sinai Hospital, and Jessica Young, MD, from the Roswell Park Cancer Institute, were extremely generous with their time and knowledge in helping me portray Erin’s mother’s breast cancer treatment as accurately as possible. If I were to ever have need of breast cancer treatment, I would be honored to call either one of these ladies my doctor. Any mistakes are mine alone.
Thank you to Mary Ann Orlang for kindly giving me a tour of the Lee Memorial Health System’s Regional Cancer Center.
A big thank-you to Christine McElwain and Shelly Van Bulck for sharing their stories with me.
In addition to reading the plethora of excellent books on the subject, I also spent a lot of time on various BRCA websites and forums reading the heartbreaking stories of women dealing with the BRCA mutation. I am in awe of your strength and bravery. I would also like to thank the genetic counselors and experts with whom I spoke.
I’ve been flying with my stepdad, Chuck McClinton, since I was twelve years old, and I would like to send a big shout-out to him for being patient with my endless questions, some of them quite strident as my deadline neared. Thanks, Chuckie! It’s not your fault if I got it wrong.
My portrayal of Erin’s legal issues was guided by my questions to the FAA and the AOPA, as well as Atlanta aviation lawyer James S. Strawinski, who absolutely rocks. Again, any mistakes were either done in the name of literary license, or were simply my own dumb fault. (Let’s go with literary license.)
The urban exploring parts were facilitated by my haunting of many urban exploring articles and sites (search “Atlanta urban exploring” and you’ll see what I mean). The John B. Gordon School was slated for demolition the last time I checked, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to find out if this has come to pass. The Excaps’ method of entry into the abandoned buildings may or may not be accurate, and one of the buildings may or may not be alarmed. Be warned!
Thank you, Ashley Elston, for crying.
Mom and Aunt Joyce: thank you for being my extremely tolerant sounding boards and first readers. It would be so much harder without you.
To Eddie, Zack, and Gavin, the three loves of my life. Thanks for putting up with me, guys. I know it’s not always easy.
Without Sarah Davies, my splendiferous agent, none of this would be possible. Thank you, Sarah, for helping me grow Erin’s story to its full potential.
Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Mills
All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in the United States of America in March 2015
by Bloomsbury Children’s Books
Electronic edition published in March 2015
www.bloomsbury.com
Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mills, Wendy.
Positively beautiful / by Wendy Mills.
pages cm
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Erin’s life is fairly normal until she learns that her mother has breast cancer and she, too, may carry a mutated gene, so amid high school dramas including betrayal by her best friend, she must consider preemptive surgery to guarantee she will not be stricken.
[1. Breast—Cancer—Fiction. 2. Cancer—Fiction. 3. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Best friends—Fiction. 7. Friendship—Fiction. 8. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 9. Single-parent families—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M639874Pos 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014009929
eISBN: 978-1-61963-342-1
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