#10: Letter to Lydia
“Mommy has cancer. You don’t know what that is, but I do.”
Washington, DC to Denver, Colorado | January 11, 2007 | By DANIEL WEINSHENKER
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#1: Through the Night“The next evening [my mom] would be diagnosed with cancer.” Hazel“His eyes were slick, heavy membranes trying to hold back a flood of tears. But he had to be Dad: invincible.” Through the Night“That first night, before we would know, was the night that really did a number on me.” Antioxidant City“He looks at all of us one at a time. The sun comes in. The feeling, the sucked-out breath feeling, is almost familiar.” Something Like the Sun“Margaret never overstayed her welcome, and she never tried to be my mom’s friend…. She just sat with her and prayed.” Teach Your Children Well“The smell permeates her cute little dress, her blanket, her hair. She doesn’t smell baby-sweet. Nope. Cigarettes.” Lake Ice“That winter, between the glorious autumn moving in and my mother’s springtime death, was full of anxiety and fear for my little sister and me. We were in a strange new house. Our mother was fading away with a disease we couldn’t understand. And it sounded like gunshots were going off outside our house.” | The popping, Lauren’s father assured her, was just the ice hardening. Don’t Forget Cole Porter“He didn’t have any idea how he’d recognize the real thing if it ever crossed his path. Until he saw her. She said yes to dancing, and they swerved together like two ribbons unfurling, winding their collective long legs in natural accord.” | Years later, even after the doctors muttered the word “incurable,” he still remembered Cole Porter. My Mother’s Hair“My mother’s hair is all gone. I hate “tear-jerking cancer crap” just as much as the next person. But her hair is gone, all the same.” | June says a better daughter would throw a party for her mother’s birthday, but she feels paralyzed.  |
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