Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

AUGUST

TWO DAYS LATER

I have been in bed for two days now, alternating between crying, pain, and vomiting. Since the breakup, I have been miserable, feeling guilty and missing him like crazy, but I know it was the right thing to do. I just need to convince my heart. He is the missing piece to my soul. I knew it the first day I saw him in the support group, and no matter what happens with this illness, I will know it until the day I die, but he deserves to have everything he dreamed of, even if it is not with me. No matter how much it hurts.

Today is the first day I am fever-free and my body aches like you wouldn’t believe. Now, I am sure I had the flu, but it was ten times worse because of the chemo but damn, can a girl get a break. When I realized I was feeling better, I called the chemo center first thing this morning, and they told me they had a chair for me due to one of their other patients being out with the flu. Geez, that place should really disinfect better.

Now that I have showered, I am in the mirror combing my hair when the first clump comes out. “Oh God.” My hand flies to my mouth, and tears fall. “Please, not now,” I beg to someone, anyone. I thought I had more time for this part.

Over the past few months, I have tried so hard to remember every stage of my mom's journey, when certain things happened and when they didn’t, but I can’t. The only thing I can seem to hang on to was the pain she went through and how it felt as her child to watch her leave us slowly. “Mama, help me.” I sob, my head hanging, when the reality finally hits me. I mean, of course, I know I have cancer. How can I not know? But, I think I tricked myself into believing I would be the one in a million who didn’t lose their hair and announce to the world what she is fighting.

My knees begin to buckle, and then this voice, the voice of my mom, fills the bathroom. “Sweet girl do you remember what we did when my hair started falling out?” I do remember. She stood so tall and strong and handed me an electric razor while Connie looked on and demanded I shave her head. I protested, cried, refused, and screamed at her, and when all of that was done, she looked me in my eyes and said, “It’s only hair, sweet girl. It will grow back. This is small compared to everything else, don’t you think?” That was the day I learned that certain things matter, and others don’t, and I think I forgot along the way when I was leaving the grief behind.

Now, with my mother's words in my head, I grab the razor Declan keeps in the cabinet, shed one last tear, and then shed my hair. Okay, I lied. The tears continue to rain down on my sink with each pass of the razor, but I am no longer anguished by them. It’s just that with each strand that falls, I remember.

I remember my mom braiding it for me before I went to school. I remember the first time she taught me to use rollers because I wanted my hair curly and how hard the three of us laughed when I looked like a poodle once the rollers were out.

I remember that way she cried when I colored it in tenth grade without asking her, but she didn’t cry because she was mad, she cried because she couldn’t be there with me due to being in the hospital.

I remember Declan used to love running his hands through it, especially when he was anxious about something. He would lean into me, inhale my hair and run his fingers through it calling me his touchstone.

I remember him pulling it hard when he made love to me from behind, forcing me to lean back and kiss him while he fucked me so hard tears would pour from my face. God, I miss his dominance in bed. So many memories and yet right now, I am angry that I have to do it. I have to be honest though, the more hair that falls strangely enough I feel liberated, almost more empowered like it is one more thing lifted off me.

When it is finished, I look nothing like me, but hey, I haven't for a long time. Not quite ready to go out like this, I grab a scarf from my drawer, wrap it around my head and take a deep breath. The first day as the new me. My phone beeps letting me know my ride's here. I grab my purse and walk outside. Ordinarily, I would get in the backseat, but considering the nausea and the fact that I am alone, I get in the passenger seat.

The chair they have for me is ready when I get there so they walk me to it, hook me up and I simply lie back and let the medicine do its thing. My mind drifts over and over to the past few months and of course I see everything I could have done differently, but didn’t. It doesn’t stop the pang in my chest when I think of him all the time.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I slide through photos of us, smiling and happy, unaware that life was working against us. Pictures from graduation and our trips. Pictures with our families and pictures we took of private moments. “Declan.” I cry out his name when the tears pool and fall. My body shakes with the unbearable agony. I call his name once more. “Declan.” It’s more like an injured animals wail. But then…

“I’m here, baby.” I look up, and there he is, standing in front of me, his face covered in sorrow and hurt, and all I can do is cry harder. I don’t know when he moves to the chair in front of me, but he kisses the side of my head and holds both of my hands in his. “I am here, baby.”

Still not believing it is him, I touch his face, my vision blurry with tears of apology and thankfulness. When I convince myself I haven’t started hallucinating, everything comes to me, and all I want to do is tell him why. “Declan I…” He stops me with a finger to my lips and shakes his head.

“Not here. Not now. Just relax. I am going to sit here with you and hold your hand. Then I am going to hold you while you sleep tonight, and tomorrow, we are going to talk. Is that alright?” I nod my head because words won’t do justice to what I am really feeling because nothing has ever sounded better.