Author's note: uhm, well, i used this for my portfolio for high school. (i go to a performing arts school and... Show full author's note »
I sit with my mother, father, and sister as the funeral begins. It’s a bigger turnout than Odelia’s mother could’ve ever expected. The whole cancer community from towns over seem to have dropped everything to attend her funeral.
The music I picked out, the music Odelia told me to pick out is playing. Eric and Clarissa and other friends sit together closer to the back.
The slideshow her mother made plays in the background. We all watch Odelia’s smiling face, we
But the room’s attitude changes with her mother walks up and takes the stage. She says:
First of all, I would like to thank all of you for being able to come today. I would like to say that my daughter is very appreciative and is watching us all right now, up in heaven. For those of you that do not know Odelia, she was a kind hearted girl who was bullied by cancer for years. She loved sports and school, she loved talking to people and she always wanted to put others before herself.
And for those of you that do not know about her experience with cancer, it was not in any way easy. It wasn’t easy for any of us. I hope you never have to hear the words, your child has cancer, come from a doctor who looks sad. I really hope you never hear, the prognosis is not good.
I hope you never watch your child prepare for chemotherapy or see them connected to an IV pole. I hope you never have to look into the fearful eyes of a child as they say, don’t worry, I’m going to be okay. I hope you never have to hold your child while they vomit their bile day after day and I wish that you never find yourself preparing ice chips for lunch, because that’s all your child can handle. And they can barely handle it.
I hope you’re never deceived by the cure doctors give you. I pray for you that you never watch your child have their identity stolen as they lose their hair and become skeletal. I hope you never watch them develop severe acne from the chemo, or lose their ability to walk as they look at you with hope written in their eyes and say, it’s going to be okay.
I hope you never witness a mother alone and crying in a hospital corridor after being told, there’s nothing more we can do. Because I have. And I hope you never have to see a family wandering around the hospital aimlessly after their child’s body has been removed from the vicinity. I have, and it’s not an easy thing to watch.
I plead that you never watch your child have their head bolted to a table for radiation. I sincerely hope you never know what it’s like to take your child home in a wheelchair because the chemo has so severely damaged their muscles, because they’re 40 pounds lighter, because they’re pale as a sheet, because they’re bald and scarred, and because they faithfully tell you, it’s going to be okay.
I hope you never have to hear the few friends you have left say, thank God it’s all over, because, my God, it will never be over. Let me tell you, your life becomes doctor after doctor, constant blood tests, MRI’s, and fear. Fear that any one of these tests could tell you, the cancer has returned.
And then you watch your friends disappear. I hope you never feel any of these pains, because only then will you understand what cancer has done to me and my precious Odelia. Only then will you understand.
She’s in tears by the end of this, but rightfully so. She says, thank you Charles, as she hands the mic to me. I tell everyone Odelia’s story, not the story of cancer.