The World Turned Upside Down

The diagnosis came on a Tuesday. I remember because Emma had gymnastics that night, and I kept thinking how normal everything felt in the waiting room—other kids in leotards, parents scrolling their phones, the smell of chalk and rubber mats. Like the world hadn't just tilted completely off its axis three hours earlier.

During

The hardest part wasn't watching you get sicker. The hardest part was watching you try not to let us see it. The way you'd force yourself to eat breakfast even when I could see the nausea written across your face. How you'd insist on reading Emma her bedtime story even when your voice was barely a whisper, pausing between pages to catch your breath.

"I'm okay," became your constant refrain, even as your clothes grew looser, even as the medicine made your hands shake, even as we both knew you weren't okay and maybe never would be again.

I learned to love you in new ways. I loved the stubborn set of your jaw when the doctors suggested we "discuss options." I loved how you still tried to fix Emma's bicycle chain with trembling fingers, refusing to let me help.

I loved you - fierce and desperate, trying to memorize the exact shade of your eyes in morning light, the way your hand felt in mine, heavy and warm and still fitting so perfectly yours.

To be continued...

Dr H