Ever have the gut wrenching feeling, when you know something isn’t right? That was the feeling I had when Rebecca, someone I considered my mom, my best friend, and my rock texted me. I spent the majority of my summer at her house with her and her two and a half year old Patrick, “my little munchkin”. Rebecca is the most caring person you will ever meet. We grew so close this summer, though she is not my real mother she is someone I look up to like a mother. I look up to her for advice and I go to her as someone who will listen to me vent, she has always been there for me. Patrick is the most energetic, and happy toddler you will ever meet. When I would come over Rebecca would just expect him to be spoiled, whenever he didn’t want to walk I had no problem carrying him, when he wanted more yogurt puffs I would gladly give him a few more. My love for these two had grown so strong, we were no longer friends, we were family. I opened the text message that read, “Patrick has cancer; he has surgery tomorrow morning at eight thirty.” My heart sunk.

I couldn’t accept what I was reading, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t know how to reply to that one text message that had just instantly killed me inside. What were the right questions, and what are the wrong questions I wondered? My mind was mush. As I replied my eyes watered, a waterfall of tears and mascara ran down my face. I couldn’t breathe. The world around me froze; I sat there with both hands gripping my phone so tight, that my hands were as white as a ghost. I couldn’t talk or move. My mom was asking me all types of questions like what kind of cancer, what hospital is he at, where is the cancer? All questions I didn’t know the answer to at the moment. I just kept reading the same message over and over again, praying that it would all just go away.

I woke up the next morning and realized it wasn’t a dream. I was living a horrible night mare. I had to embrace it, and start asking Rebecca if there was anything I could do to. I wanted to be there for her more than anything. I was quickly learning that life isn’t fair. I spent the whole day worrying, biting my nails, and pacing around my house, I didn’t know what else to do. Later that day my phone went off, I slowly picked it up, I was scared to read the message, because I didn’t know what to expect. He made it through the surgery. I was so relieved. Then my first thought was I want to go see my munchkin at Yale ICU. My mom said she would drive me down on Saturday, as the days went by I was starting to become petrified of seeing him.

It was Saturday, finally. The whole 38 minutes from my house to Yale was complete torture. Thoughts raced through my mind I wasn’t sure what he would look like? Would he be excited to see me? Could he move? I walked into the little room they were assigned in pediatric ICU, I automatically ran over and squeezed Rebecca trying my hardest to hold back the tears I could feel forming. That’s when I looked at my munchkin laying on the hospital bed, with no movement or emotion. The first thing I noticed was two lazy eyes, they were just floating around... Rebecca and my mom were talking, I don’t know what about because I was blocking out the world, putting all my energy into not breaking down. I wanted to stay strong. I was standing at the end of the hospital bed just watching him there.

He started to whine, Rebecca saw how shocked I was she gripped my hand and said, “Baby, he can’t talk anymore. He whines.” She started to get choked up, but continued “He will be able to talk again it’s just going to take some time. It’s like having a little baby; he can’t talk, feed himself or move by himself. He’s going to be okay sweetheart. I promise.” I was beyond taken back by this. This is the kid who would not shut up just three weeks earlier, the one who would say “No talking mommy, no talking” when Rebecca and I would try to have a conversation. This is my munchkin who loves to go outside and chase bubbles, the one who was attached at my hip and would scream if I took my attention off of him for two seconds. I would give anything to have that Patrick back. I felt useless, just standing there looking at him. I wanted to rewind time and just go back to playing in the basement together, watching Mickey Mouse Play House and The Fresh Beat Band, our favorite shows of course. That wasn’t possible though. I hated seeing him like this. I never expected it to be this bad, I thought I would walk in and be able to talk to him and hear his laugh and that would make everything okay. Everything wasn’t okay.

I was heartbroken. I had never felt this feeling, my stomach hurt, I wanted to puke, I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, but most of all I simply wanted to run away. But instead I stood their quietly, confused on how such a bad thing could happen to such an amazing little kid. What had he done wrong to deserve this? I lost all faith that day. My faith in god was gone. I wanted an explanation, one I understand I will never acquire.