20 Dark Skies and Brighter Stars

Dark Skies and Brighter Stars

Savannah,

I think the hardest part of my illness is seeing how it has impacted all of you. I remember one particular day you and Ida came to see me in the hospital. I had just been told that my treatment plan was failing, and I only had months left to live. And Savannah, I remember meeting your eyes and knowing you understood that. That I was dying. I had made peace with it. But feeling you crumble into my embrace was one of the worst moments of my life.

There is nothing worse than seeing those you love taken down by sadness. It hurts so badly because it is out of your control. And I pray with all my heart that my last few months were beautiful. I never want to let darkness consume me, even in the most dire of circumstances.

I hope when you read this, your life is full of love and light. If it isn't, my task to you is to work to let that light in. Bathe in grace, and light and hope will spread to those around you. Infect them with joy. Cover them with a love so unyielding that they have no choice but to feel that love in the marrow of their bones.

As I sit here now, I pray that I have done that for you. For Mama and Daddy, for Ida. And for Rune, who was so hurt by my absence when he was in Norway, I didn't know if he could ever feel joy again. But I see him smile more and more every day. He walks beside me, the soulmate I always knew him to be.

Search for happiness, Savannah. Then spread that happiness and hope to all you meet. Especially those who need it most. You are my ray of sunshine. And always will be. I know you can be that for those who need it too.

Sending you love,

Poppy

Savannah

I tied my hair back in a French braid and put simple gold stud earrings in my ears. I smoothed the creases from my shirt and pants. I was ready. The pounding of my heart felt so strong I thought I'd be able to see it underneath my shirt. But I dug deep, worked on my breathing, and kept my spine straight.

I can do this, I told myself. I closed my eyes and silently said, Poppy, please place your hand on my back and hold me through this.

I opened my eyes and felt the sting of tears prick at my eyes. But I kept them away and turned to Cael, who was sitting on the bed in my room. Leo allowed him to be in here during the day as long as the door was kept open. He'd been here this morning at first light. Leo had already checked on us several times. Checked on Cael. Leo had barely left his side since his breakthrough.

Cael was watching me, sadness in his gaze. The past few days had been rough for him. And it broke my heart. After listening to the group of men a few days back, and after speaking to Simon, who had helped him reframe his thoughts, Cael had been struggling so badly.

I turned and sat beside him. Cael stretched out his hand. If possible, the last few days had brought us even closer. I watched him cry. Insomnia held him in its grip. He was racked with pain. But I held him through it all. And in those hours when he was most lost and his heart felt bruised, it occurred to me that I had moved past that stage. Since being on this journey with Mia and Leo and my new friends, with Cael, I had somehow grown stronger.

I had found ways to move on.

Warmth traveled through my veins, and I remembered Poppy's words in her journal. "Search for happiness, Savannah. Then spread that happiness and hope to all you meet. Especially those who need it most. You are my ray of sunshine. And always will be. I know you can be that for those who need it too."

"How are you feeling?" Cael asked, his voice raspy.

My stomach turned. "Nervous," I said and ran my lips over our joined hands. Cael reached up to place his free hand on the back of head and pulled me close. He kissed me, lightly and compassionately. I fell into his arms, and my heart swelled. As broken as he felt right now, he was still there for me, always checking that I was okay.

I stared at the sun outside of the window. "I'm scared I won't be able to cope with seeing it. Seeing the patients." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Especially those who won't make it."

Cael held me tighter and pressed a trail of kisses over my hair. I could see Poppy in my mind. When she was sickest and frail, skin sallow. I saw her in the early days of treatment when her hair was gone and she lay on the hospital bed, what seemed like a million wires stuck into her skin. I pictured her near the end, when she lay in a coma and we thought we would never get to speak to her again, to give her our final goodbyes.

But if I was to become the doctor I wanted to be, I had to face this. I had to try. For Poppy. For children like her. For families who put their children's lives in the palms of the doctors who tried their utmost to save them.

This would be my first step to realizing that dream. The dream I was determined to fulfill in honor of my sister. In honor of my Mama and Daddy, of me and Ida and all the families that had been victims of cancer.

"I can do this," I said, wiped my tears, and sat up straighter.

I kept my eyes downcast, not as confident as I was making out, but Cael placed his hands on my face, cupping my cheeks, and brought me to his eyeline. "There is no one I know who could do this more."

"Baby …" I said and rolled my head into his touch, kissing his palm.

Cael brought me back to his lips, kissing me once for courage, then said, "I'll be here for you when you get back." I heard the subtext in his tone. Here for me, if I was broken by this exposure therapy. Destroyed by the sick children I would see today.

A knock sounded on the door and Mia poked her head into the room. "Ready, Savannah?" I nodded. Mia smiled, then looked to Cael. "Leo is waiting for you, Cael." Giving Cael one last kiss, I got to my feet and walked out the door, only glancing to Cael one more time for strength. He gave me a ghost of a smile that I knew he must have fought to wear. I then walked with Mia until we reached a car that would take us to the children's hospital.

"How are you feeling?" Mia said as we pulled from the safety of the retreat.

"Nervous," I said. "But …" I took a fortifying breath. "But ready, I think."

"You've come so far, Savannah," she said, and I heard the pride in her voice. "You have made incredible strides."

"Thank you," I said and thought of dinner last night. The group had been morose, all but me having gone on their exposure sessions. Dylan had met with those who had lost partners or best friends. His eyes were red rimmed when he returned, but there was a lightness in them too. Travis had met with some survivors of disasters where classmates had passed. Lili with teens who had lost parents. And Jade had met with those who had lost family members in vehicle accidents. And then, of course, there was Cael.

Mia and Leo had introduced me to some oncologists who they knew through their programs. I had spent days talking to them, hearing about their lives and careers. It only made me more determined to become a doctor too. When Dr. Susan Dela Cruz, one of the head oncologists in the local children's hospital, had asked if I'd like to come to the cancer ward and shadow her, I wasn't sure I could. But after talking to Mia and Leo, we decided it would be good for me.

I was racked with fear. But if this trip had taught me anything, it was that fear had to be faced to defeat it. I had to defeat it. I was done running away.

An hour later we arrived in the city and stopped in front of a tall white building—the children's hospital. My memories of hospitals were shrouded in darkness. But I tried to shift my thoughts and instead try to see them as a place of safety and hope for those stricken by life-threatening illnesses.

A place of healing and not loss.

As we walked through the glass doors, the smell of disinfectant gathered around me. It immediately thrust me back to Poppy lying on her bed, in a coma, pierced with wires and oxygen. But I breathed through the pain of those memories and focused on when she'd left it. When she had come home to spend her final days with those she loved most. In peace.

Susan searched my face. "How are we feeling?"

"I want to do it," I said and hoped Poppy's hand was on my back like I had asked her. I needed her to help guide me through this. I followed Susan until we reached the oncology ward.

"We have a full ward," Susan said, and my heart sank. So many children. She must have seen the sorrow in my eyes, as she reached out and placed her hand on my shoulder. "We are confident we can save many of them."

But not all …

I nodded, unable to find my voice. I was giving myself grace. My strength and conviction to do this had ebbed momentarily, but I was still here. Still trying.

Susan placed a security code into the doors, and we entered the ward. Nurses came to speak to Susan. Not knowing the language, I couldn't follow, so I let my gaze drift to the windows around the rooms. Sadness squeezed my lungs to the point of pain as I saw a young boy with no hair lying in bed, reading a book. He was pale, and thin, and beside him was a woman who I assumed was his mama, holding his hand like she would never let go. Beside him was another patient—a girl, no older than ten, asleep in her bed, only tufts of hair growing back on her smooth scalp.

An onslaught of memories rained down on me—remembering Poppy in these varying stages were like bullets piercing through my strength. Mia's hand landed on my back, and for a second, I honestly thought I'd felt Poppy. "If it's too much, we can step out for a few minutes," Mia said, and I shook my head. I was staying. I wanted to stay. To face this.

It was time.

Mia nodded, just as Susan walked back to me with a chart. "I'm about to start rounds," she said, observing my shaken state. "I know you won't understand the language for most of this, but we have a girl, age fourteen, whose father is English. If you want, I thought you might like to speak with her."

My pulse fluttered in my neck. Susan smiled. "She knows you're coming. She's excited to meet you."

"Okay," I rasped. Fourteen. Not much younger than Poppy was when she was diagnosed. I looked to Susan. "Is she getting better?"

I could tell immediately by Susan's pained expression that she wasn't. "She has stage four Hodgkin lymphoma. And she only has a few months left to live. She stopped responding to treatment." My vision shimmered. She had the same disease as Poppy.

And she was dying.

"We want you to face things, Savannah, but only as much as you can take," Mia said, and Susan nodded.

I pictured Poppy's smiling face. How strong and vibrant she was right until the end. "I want to do it," I rasped. "I want to talk to her."

Susan's responding smile was wide. "Let's do rounds first; then I'll take you to Tala."

Tala. Her name was so beautiful.

I followed Susan into the first room, standing back enough to give her space to do her job. I listened to her soft tone as she spoke to the children, watched her smile wide and treat them with so much kindness and respect it was awe-inspiring.

Susan told me before we entered each room where the person was in their illness. If they had just started chemo, if they were just about done. But the most painful were those who were on palliative care. I would meet their tired eyes and smile. When some would try to smile back, when their parents would shake my hand, I was hit with a moment of pure anger. It wasn't fair that they were losing their battles. It wasn't fair that their families were losing them, slowly, day by day.

Even those who were sad, crying and exhausted, to me shone bright with a warrior's inner strength.

Just like Poppy had.

We stopped at the final room. Susan turned to me. "This is Tala's room." My heart sank, and I controlled my breathing. I didn't want her to see me upset. She was going through enough.

"I'm ready," I said, and I straightened my spine. Susan entered a private room, and I followed her inside. Tala was lying on the bed. She was frail, with short hair. Luggage was beside her bed, and she was dressed in everyday clothes. And when she saw me, her smile was blinding.

"Tala," Susan said. "How are you feeling?" She spoke in English this time.

"Good," she said, and then she turned her gaze to me again. My heart stopped when I saw she had green eyes. My bottom lip wobbled, but I took a deep breath and held myself together. "Are you Savannah?" she asked, a slight accent to her voice. It was so beautiful.

"I am," I said and moved to shake her hand. Tala gripped on tightly to my hand.

"Dr. Dela Cruz told me I would have a visitor today. From America." An excited smile spread on her lips.

"I'm so honored to meet you, Tala," I said, making sure my voice was steady.

"You want to be a doctor?" Tala asked.

"That's right."

"Why?" she asked, and I felt my blood cool.

I looked up to Susan—Dr. Dela Cruz—and she nodded in encouragement. Then she said to Mia, "Shall we leave the girls to chat for a while?"

Mia glanced at me, and I nodded. Mia and Susan left the room, and Tala patted the edge of the bed. "Please, sit," she said. "My family are coming soon." She smiled. "I'm going home today …" She trailed off, and I sat down beside her. I knew why she was going home. For the same reason Poppy had near the end.

Tala never let go of my hand. It was weak yet held so much strength.

"Why do you want to be a doctor?" she asked again. "For cancer patients?" she tacked on.

"Yes," I said. "Children's cancer, specifically." She studied me and waited for the second part of her question to be answered. "I had an older sister …" I said and really fought to keep my voice steady and blinked away tears from my eyes. "She had cancer—Hodgkin lymphoma. Like you."

Tala's face grew serious. "Where is she now?" she asked, and my soul cried.

I stared into her forest-green eyes. "In Heaven," I said, and I let myself believe that with my entire heart.

Tala's fingers tightened in mine. She looked down at our joined hands. Then she said, "I'm dying too." Those three words caused an almighty rip in my soul.

"I know," I whispered and held her hand tighter.

A wash of tears made her green eyes shine. "I try not to be scared. But sometimes …" She swallowed, a single tear falling from her eye and drifting down her cheek. "Sometimes I can't help it."

"It's understandable," I said and shifted closer to her. "What you are facing is the hardest thing a person can face."

"Was your sister scared?" she asked, then said, "What was her name?"

"Poppy," I said. "Her name was Poppy."

"Poppy," Tala said, sounding out the name. She smiled. "I like that name."

She waited for me to answer her previous question. "Poppy wasn't scared," I said. "At least, she tried not to be." I thought of Poppy's resilience, her smiles and the innate happiness she'd radiated right up until her final breath. "She was so happy. She loved her family, and her boyfriend, fiercely. She loved life … right up until the end."

Tala turned her head and stared at a picture beside her bed. There was a Filipino woman in it, a Caucasian man, and a young boy and girl. And of course, there was Tala, her arms wrapped around them all. "I love my family too," she said, running a finger over their smiling faces. Turning to me again, she said, "I think I'm most scared of leaving them behind."

"Poppy was too." I wrapped both my hands around hers. "But we are okay," I said and felt something shift inside of me. I was getting better. For the first time in four years, I had hope that I was getting better. That I would be okay. I smiled. "And I still talk to Poppy," I said. "At her grave near where we live. And I talk to her in the stars."

"Stars?" Tala asked.

I gave her a small smile. "I like to think of her shining down upon me, living among the stars." A tear fell down my cheek. But it was a happy one. I was remembering Poppy with happiness . "She shone so brightly in this life, I knew she could only shine brighter in the next."

Tala was smiling, but then it faltered. "I like that," she said. "What you said about the stars."

"Then what is it?" I asked, noticing something was on her mind.

"I just feel tired a lot now. So tired." She lifted her gaze to mine. "I'm not sure I shine as brightly as your sister did. Sometimes I feel like my light is fading. That things are getting dark."

My heart skipped at her sad words. Leaning down, I squeezed her hands tighter and said, "Stars shine brightest in the dark."

The smile she gave me in return rivaled the glow of the stars, the moon, and sun itself. "My name," she said, "Tala, in Tagalog, our language, means ‘bright star.' I'm named after the goddess of the stars."

I felt it then. A ripple of destiny shimmer between us. The feel of a soft hand pressed in on my back, and I knew Poppy was beside me. A sense of fate or something like it filled up the room. I knew that Tala's path and mine were meant to cross. I was meant to meet her and she me.

A knock at the door sounded and Susan popped her head in. "Tala, your family are here to take you home." The door opened wider, and a young boy and a girl entered, jumping onto Tala's bed, wrapping her into their small arms.

"You're coming home, darling!" a man said with an English accent from the doorway, blushing slightly when he saw me beside his daughter. "Oh, sorry to interrupt."

"It's no problem," I said. When I looked to him, I saw Tala's green eyes staring back at me. I smiled at him and the woman who came through next—her mama.

Rising from the bed, I released Tala's hand. She smiled at me. "Bye, Savannah."

"Bye, Tala," I said, my throat graveled. Because I knew I would never see her again.

She swallowed, then over her sister's and brother's heads, said, "I'll see you from the stars."

I gave her a watery smile. "I'll be looking for you," I managed to say back before leaving the room and walking straight into the private family room to the left. I lifted my head toward the ceiling and let the tears fall in twin rivers from my eyes. I covered my face with my hands and just let all the sorrow for Tala's situation spill forth.

Tala was so brave, so pure. She was such a beautiful soul and didn't deserve to die.

"Savannah?" Mia came into the room, followed by Susan, shutting the door behind them.

"I want to do this," I said, without a single doubt in my heart, my voice thick with emotion. "I want to be a pediatric oncologist. I want to help cure these children who do not deserve to be sick. I want to work so hard that one day, cancer won't take people away from their loved ones. I want to help so that cancer— all cancer —is curable. I want it. So much."

With every word spoken, my voice became stronger. I became stronger. I wanted this so badly that I knew I'd be going to Harvard this fall. I'd be pre-med, and I wouldn't stop until no other family had to lose a Poppy, a Tala. Lose a treasured branch of their family tree.

"I can do this," I said to Mia. "I know I can." I smiled and said, "Because I'll have Poppy in my heart."

Mia's eyes shone and she held me in her arms. "I'm so proud of you, my girl."

"Thank you," I whispered.

The truth was, I was proud of me too. And I was immeasurably proud of Poppy for making me see this. For her journal, pushing me and holding me through the pages when I didn't have her arms to embrace me in real life. And I was proud of Tala, for allowing me this gift—of speaking to her, of helping me find my inner strength when I thought it had been lost. I was honored I'd met her.

I left the hospital with a new determination in my step and a sense of purpose in my heart. I would take on whatever came next with gratitude in my heart. Because I had a light I could share with the world. Just like Poppy had. We shared the same blood. What ran through her ran through me.

I would do this for us both.