by Mia Michelle
I remember the day of his diagnosis like it was yesterday. I remember sitting in that surgery with him and Deb as the doctor explained how the melanoma they’d found between his little toe had spread to his pancreas. The prognosis wasn’t good, but it could have been worse. There was hope.
Until there wasn’t.
Terminal. Even hearing that word, I still clung to hope that a miracle would happen, and somehow the cancer would shrink. I’d lost my parents; surely life couldn’t be this cruel, could it? I felt awful even thinking about myself. I couldn’t imagine how he must have felt. He’d fought so hard for so long, and to be told there was nothing more they could do…how do you process that?
“Em,” Andy said, “Good thoughts, remember?”
I smiled, blinking back tears as I reached inside my jacket pocket and touched the small leather binder. Good thoughts. When it was obvious I wasn’t coping, I’d began writing down a list of memories, forcing myself to only focus on the good. It had been Andy’s idea, a way for me to remember time we’d had together. The time we had left. It was my way of staying strong for him, because the last thing he needed was for me to be a broken mess.
“Good thoughts,” I mumbled, squeezing his hand.
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