Page 2 of Write Me For You

June

Texas

Age seventeen

“ I ’m so sorry…but there’s nothing more we can do.”

The words hit my ears in pieces, like scattered drops of rain. Numbness spread along my limbs until it rendered me immobile. Dr. Long’s sorrow-filled face blurred before me as my eyes seemed to lose focus and every inch of my body froze.

I’m so sorry…

Dr. Long’s voice repeated in my head like it was caught in a wind tunnel, circling and echoing, trying to reach my shocked heart.

I was trapped in some kind of cocoon. A distant, loud wail could be heard outside of it, but I couldn’t move to see where it came from.

I caught a flash of movement in my periphery but couldn’t shift my eyes to see what it was.

I heard crashing, then a deep, sorrowful cry filling the room, like it had been ripped from the depths of that person’s soul.

…but there’s nothing more we can do.

My heart began to pound, Dr. Long’s words still trying to break through, along with the outside cries and wails clattering at my impenetrable walls.

I shook my head, tried to think, tried to get my bearings, but it was no use.

My breathing came quickly, and I distantly felt wetness falling down my cheeks.

A hand wrapped around mine, clutching it tight like they would never let it go.

I blinked and blinked again, trying to focus, trying to find my way back from this frozen, shadowed state.

Then the comforting feel of my mama’s arms wrapping around my neck hurtled me back into the present, until the doctor’s office slammed back into twenty-twenty view.

Until the raw rasp of my daddy’s broken cries whipped around me and my mama’s shaking arms seemed to ground me.

I gasped and allowed the cool air from the air conditioning to inflate my lungs.

Dr. Long still sat before me, and I stared at his sorrowful face. I’m so sorry…but there’s nothing more we can do.

I waited for the heavy weight of reality to push down upon me, for the cries and screams to rip from my mouth, for the anxiety that I’d been fighting for so long to take me in its unyielding grasp.

But none of it came. My mama cried into my neck, my daddy dropped to his knees before where we sat and encased both Mama and me in his strong arms, but I was completely still.

There was no shaking. No cries or screams. Just… stillness.

I was going to die.

I was seventeen, and I was going to die.

After all the fighting over the past couple of years—the chemo, the drugs, the panic attacks, all the pain—it was coming to an end. I was surprised to find that there was a morsel of relief to that. No more pain, no more medication, no more needles, just the realization that it was time to let go.

“June,” my mama whispered, lifting her head from the crook of my neck.

As I stared at her, my lips began to tremble. Not for me but for her …for my daddy.

Daddy lifted his head, his eyes filled with so much pain, raw and acute.

“It’s okay,” I managed to say, my voice barely audible. “I’m…I’m okay.”

“Baby…” my mama said, placing her hands on my cheeks. She searched my face like she was seeing me for the very last time.

Dr. Long rose from his seat. I followed his movements. My parents looked up at him as if he were going to tell them he’d gotten it all wrong. That he’d read the chart incorrectly. That, actually, the results said there was a chance. Hope…

But there wasn’t.

Dr. Long pressed his lips together and said, “Take as long as you need in this room. I’ll be in touch in the next few days with a plan for palliative treatment.

” He paused, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as if he was fighting back his own emotions too.

Then he nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

The silence his exit brought was stifling.

Mama and Daddy reared their heads back, bloodshot eyes watching me to see if I would break.

But the numbness remained. “Can we go home?” I asked.

I didn’t want to stay in this hospital any longer than I had to.

My parents glanced to one another, having some silent conversation I didn’t understand.

“Of course,” my mama said, and took hold of my hand.

I stared down at our entwined fingers. It didn’t feel like my hand she was holding.

It felt as if I were suddenly watching the world from a detached standpoint.

Like I was no longer in control of my body.

I wasn’t in the driver’s seat. Rather I was in the back, watching all of this unfold from a distance I couldn’t close.

I kept my eyes straight ahead as we left the room and walked through the Pediatric Oncology unit. The rhythm of my mama’s heels on the linoleum floor accompanied us until we were outside in the warm Texan air—four hundred and twenty-two steps.

My mama held on to me tightly until we reached our car. Daddy opened the door and helped me inside. I buckled myself in, all on autopilot. I tried to feel something, to let my conscious mind fight back the peculiar detachment, but there was nothing.

Daddy started the car, and we drove in silence all the way home.

I caught the worried glances my parents shared in my periphery.

Saw their heads frequently turn back to me, waiting for me to break, to speak, to do anything .

But I focused only on the views outside the car window, staying within the cocoon of safety I had found within myself.

The trees swayed in the afternoon breeze. Birds sang and launched themselves into the sky, swooping and soaring. The sun blazed in a crystal-blue sky. The world remained the same.

But I was going to die.

I inhaled a deep breath, feeling a slight catch in my chest as I did. I waited for the panic, the pain, the absolute gutting fear that must come with being told your days on this earth were finite—but the numbness held strong. I stared down at my hand; it still didn’t feel like mine.

In what felt like no time at all, we arrived at home. I glanced up at our small house. Everything looked the same. There was comfort in that, that when life turned on its head, some things remained the same.

My door opened and Daddy reached in to help me out of the car. I took his hand and let him lead me into the house. But once inside, the silence that swallowed us began to chase away the numbness. Prick by prick, needlelike piercings of anxiety began to press against my chest.

“June?” Mama said. Her sad eyes searched my face. I didn’t know how to react. How were you supposed to act when you were told you were dying? I didn’t know the protocol.

“I need some fresh air,” I said, and made my way to the backyard. I heard my parents following. I stopped and, without turning, said, “Please…let me just go out there by myself. I need to be alone.”

I didn’t look to them. I couldn’t bear to see the sadness on their faces anymore. I wasn’t pushing them away—I just needed to breathe . I needed to find my way back to myself.

The sun coming in the windows made spears of rainbows on the kitchen counters, and the distant smell of the bread my mama baked this morning clung to the air.

I let it all wash over me, then stepped out onto the back porch.

The wooden deck creaked beneath my feet.

I walked to the railing and leaned against it.

I looked down at my hands again, curling my fingers.

My nails were short and brittle but otherwise looked okay.

I breathed in deeply, the air filling my lungs. My legs and my arm joints ached.

But I was okay . I didn’t feel like I was done on this earth.

My body might have been failing, but my soul felt alive .

I couldn’t reconcile the two. A bird sang from a treetop in the woods to the side of our home, and I found myself looking up.

The breeze kissed my cheeks, and I watched the bird, perched on a branch.

As if it felt my attention, it looked my way.

Seconds later, it took flight.

I wished I could do that right now—take to the skies and lose myself in clouds.

I’m so sorry…

I’d been fighting for so long. I supposed, in my naiveté, I hadn’t believed I wouldn’t be healed. Yes, many treatments had failed for me, but I always thought there would be something that took, that one of the treatments would work. It was just a question of which.

My heart increased in rhythm. I curled my hands into fists, but that detached feeling was still in place, like my true self had been sequestered somewhere inside of my mind.

I moved to the porch swing and sat down.

The door opened behind me, and I turned to see my parents walking through. For the first time in a couple of hours, I smiled. “How did I know you wouldn’t be able to stay away?”

Mama smiled, but that smile quickly turned to sorrow as tears began spilling from her eyes. Mama and Daddy flanked me on the swing’s bench seat. They each took hold of my hands, and for a moment, they felt like mine again.

“Darlin’,” Daddy said. I turned to him. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” I said, then shook my head.

“No, I’m numb.” I gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“I think I’m in shock.” My mama wiped her eyes.

I turned away to lay my head on her shoulder, looking out onto the fields behind our house, and the wood that sat to the side.

I adored this view. “I just never thought we’d get here. ”

“Neither did we,” Daddy said, and my mama wrapped her arms around me.

“Neither did we.” Nothing else was said.

What was there to say? So we sat out on the porch until the sun set and stayed awhile longer, as the moon became visible in the sky, reminding us that another of my now-limited days was done.

I had no idea what would happen from here on out, so for now, I’d drink in the world, while I sat beside my two favorite people, and just breathe.