Silence. Nothing but the scraping of forks against plates, and not to pick up food, merely to make up for the utter lack of conversation.

My mother picks up her phone to call my brother at school, and insists that he pick up, that there is something she needs to tell us. I knew as soon as I saw the look she had on her face when she called us for dinner, something was wrong. My mom took a deep breath and everything that came out of her mouth for the next two minutes sounded like I was underwater. The only word that was processed; cancer.

Later on she explained that everything would be fine, she was going to have surgery to have it removed, and it would be gone. Two months later, it had progressed, and she started chemo my first day of freshman year.

For a long time I kept the cancer a secret, mostly to avoid the sympathetic and pitiful looks I would get. My mom stopped going to church, because she didn’t want to be stared at. She took down every mirror in our house or covered it with a sheet. She wouldn’t take a picture because she couldn’t bear to see what she looked like without her hair that she always knew to be there. Over the next few months, it became increasingly difficult for her to complete tasks around the house, and it became time for me to grow up.

With both my brother and sister away at school, it was just my mom and me. I realized that it was no longer a viable option to depend on her for everything. I realized that she needed me to be there as a daughter, a caretaker, and a companion.

As a daughter, I became the one who did, or attempted to do, everything. I tried my best to help around the house and relieve any extra pressure my mother was under to keep her life from getting any harder than it was already. As a caretaker, I began closely monitoring every step, sip, and bite my mom took. I made sure after surgeries she followed her post-operative procedures to a tee, and as a companion, I needed to be there for her on the bad days.

The day I found out my mom was cancer free remains in my mind vividly. The sight of my mom calling me after a doctor’s appointment was unnerving at the time, but after she told me the tests showed nothing left, that’s a feeling I could experience over and over again. The next few months went quickly, a hectic blur of surgeries, radiation, and appointments filled the vacuous calendar’s days, and ultimately, it was the end of freshman year.
Reminiscing on that year doesn’t bring about most typical high school students’ memories. I think of doing homework next to my mom receiving chemo, looking in the stands at soccer games just to remember that it was too much for her, and that she would miss “only that game,” (and it really was the one game), and looking back, realizing that just because I had to grow up a little faster than other people, doesn’t mean I missed out on being a kid. My mom still packed my lunch everyday, made sure I had my homework done, and that I always went to bed before my bedtime. I kept my youthful innocence, but was ready to handle anything that came my way as an adult.