Mom, I’m scared.
I know you are too.
I know why you’re up so late some nights, book in hand, brows furrowed, furiously scribbling with a yellow highlighter.
I know why you haven’t been yourself lately, ever since we got that x-ray back,
When my spine looked like the worry lines on your forehead,
And I know why you look like you’ve been crying.
Don’t worry, I’ve been crying too.

Mom, I’m in pain.
I know you are too.
I know you’re in pain because of me.
It jets through your body and awakens every sleeping nerve inside you until you’re completely weighed down by the burden of me, the burden of my pain, the burden of my being. 
Please, let me take that pain for you.
Give me a sliver of that stress,
Give me a morsel of that remorse,
Give me a fix of that fear.
I miss seeing the light in your eyes, the spirit in your smile.
I hope you know I’d bare the weight of the world for you.

Mom, I’m shaking.
I know you are too.
The surgeon says it will be okay,
But we can’t help worrying about what will happen if it’s not.
He says I won’t be that one percent.
Mom, I don’t want to be that one percent.
Please don’t let me be that one percent.
I want you to know that whatever happens,
I’m stronger than you think.
You’re stronger than you think, too.
We both know it’s going to be hard,
But if anyone knows hard,
It’s us.

Mom, I have to go now.
I know you have to go too.
The nurses are taking me now, Mom.
I’m trying to be brave for you,
But the light keeps blinding me and the fear keeps finding me,
And I think it’s made a home inside of me by now,
But I won’t cry.
Maybe if I don’t cry, then you won’t either.
I won’t see you until I wake up, Mom.
Please pray for me, Mom.
Please pray that I’ll wake up.
Mom, will you make me a promise?
Mom, will you promise to love the little girl who comes out of the surgery as much as you loved the little girl going in?
Mom, I can’t promise you I’ll be the same.
I can’t promise you they won’t make a mistake and change my life for the worse.
I can’t promise you I won’t leave in a wheelchair.
I can’t promise you I’ll leave at all.
Either way, will you still love me?
Please promise that you’ll still love me.
I promise that I’ll still love you.

Mom, I’m sleeping.
And I know that you aren’t.
They put a mask on my face,
And I counted down from 10.
10...
Breathe
9...
Breathe
8...
Breathe
7...
Breathe
7...
7...
7...
And now I’m here,
In my own little dream,
Asleep but so awake,
Drifting on the curving waves of unconsciousness like a baby in a rocking crib,
Rising and falling,
Falling and rising,
And rising and falling so gently with the current.
Mom, I can see you in the waiting room.
You’re a balloon filled with bitter, nervous air,
Held together by the fake smile you’ve plastered on your face to fool the rest of the guests into thinking you’re okay.
Mom, I know you’re not okay.
Mom, I wish you wouldn’t pretend to be okay.
Mom, I’m the pin to your balloon,
And I’m going to pop you any second now.
I’m dangling dangerously close to your rubber body, and you’re trying to escape,
But you can’t.
God knows I don’t want to be your pin,
But I am,
And I’m going to pop you now.

Mom, I’m waking up now.
I know you’ve been awake for hours.
I’m connected to more tubes than I can count,
And I’ve never been in so much pain.
When you meet my eyes,
You start crying,
And I can’t understand why.
I keep fading in and fading out,
Like I’m fast-forwarding through a movie,
seeing little glimpses here and there of what’s going on around me,
Unable to distinguish one second from another,
Unaware of the passage of time.
What I am aware of,
Is that you’ve been here for every glimpse.
You haven’t left my side.
Mom, I think you kept your promise.
I think you still love me like you did before.
I’m in too much pain to know if I’m okay,
But I know that I have you,
And I think that makes me okay.

Mom, I was scared. 
But I’m not anymore.
The screws and rods in my spine won’t stop the sprouting of my wings.

Mom, I was in pain,
But I’m not anymore.
A scar is all that’s left of the prisoner I used to be.

Mom, I was shaking,
But I’m not anymore.
I’m getting stronger with every breath.

Mom, I’m ok now.
And I hope you are too.