Shine A Light On Me

During the few weeks I had been back home, food was a constant problem, for everyone. I tried not to make things that would involve smells since my dad was prone to feeling ill. Early on, I tried to make an egg. Quickly I saw my dad’s eyes darting angrily at me, almost questioning how I could be such a jerk? I even tried cooking things in the garage and it was still not foolproof, smells still wandered back into the house. 

Then there were his cravings that I desperately tried to fulfill in hopes he could eat and be happy for at least a few seconds. He had mentioned wanting cake. We had a few days left together on our winter break. Jon and I were supposed to be heading back to Oklahoma. I still believed I could go through with my last semester of student teaching. The night before we would leave, Jon, my mom and I tried to quietly make a cake as he slept. 

Everything had seemingly gone well until a piece of parchment lining the pan had inadvertently begun to burn. Plumes of smoke came streaming out of the oven followed by severe panic over the anticipation of the piercing smoke detector being set off. My mom flung open the garage door, Jon fanned toward the oven in the direction of the garage. With no choice but to put a stop to it all, I bravely opened the oven door to remove the burning item before it became worse. 

As soon as I cracked open the door, much worse giant black clouds shot out. Jon’s eyes tripled in size as he began flapping his arms wildly at the thick smog hovering above. Stifling my laughter and slumping over, I desperately tried to stop from laughing out loud. It was the only funny thing that transpired in that house for months. We avoided the alarm and finished our cake. None was the wiser.

I felt I had to get back to Oklahoma to finish my student teaching for the spring semester. This had been planned months before the cancer was ever known. I had gone along with the idea of finishing school under the false hopes that my dad would make it another six to ten months. Being home, seeing what he looked like, the lie was obvious. I don’t even recall when or who exactly told me the truth finally, that he had been given six months, which would be March. Now the idea of leaving was excruciating but I didn’t think I had any choice. In all my planning and preparation, no one told me what to do in case your parent was dying during student teaching.

My dad made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want me stopping school because of him. The day we left he hugged me, possibly the longest hug he’d ever given me. I knew at that moment that he was prepared to never see me again. We presented the secret cake to him, he sat shocked and surprised. He hugged me for a long time. Then somehow we left. The drive was unbearable. It didn’t take long before I began to break down. All I could think about was them. My mom can’t drive and they were all alone, suffering together. 

Back home in Oklahoma the next day, I sat down with my bowl of cereal. Staring at it I could only think about what they were doing, wondering if they were ok. I began sobbing. I had to go back. I emailed my teachers and told them I had to go home. They were completely supportive and said not to worry about postponing my student teaching. One of them called me immediately to tell me it was okay. A conversation I could barely take part in because I was still too stunned to see how the events were all changing so quickly. 

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Now I had to face the other painful part of leaving my home behind, all of my comforts. I would be leaving for an indefinite amount of time. I wouldn’t see Jon or my precious cat. All of this hurt more than I can ever possibly express in words. At that time it was too much to think about, so I didn’t.

A week later I was back in Houston. I lied to my dad and told them something was wrong with my student teaching placement and that it was too late to get reassigned. Deep down I think he knew it was bullshit, maybe he even appreciated my attempt to save his pride with a thoughtful lie. He was happy I was there. Both of my parents’ spirits seem to have risen considerably. The relief to not have to depend on others seemed to smooth across their faces. Not to mention my dad hadn’t seen or spent time with me in years. 

The last night of Jon being there with me, we tried avoiding the obvious horrifying sadness. In bed I was equipped with my usual sleep uniform, earplugs, mouth guard for my tmj, and wrist guard. Seductively I motioned, “Are you ready to miss all of this?” We laughed and then grasped each other tightly. The terror trapped in my throat where I kept it locked. We didn’t know when we’d see each other again. I didn’t know when I’d go home again. Jon and I weren’t married yet but we had been together for ten years. He was my home. Now we had to be apart, during the worst thing I’d ever endured.

I was aware of everything all the time. I took hit after hit, but somehow I turned off the feelings. I refused to feel the pain, it didn’t help me or us. We didn’t have time to acknowledge it. The next day Jon would leave and my dad had another treatment. We said goodbyes and got into our separate cars. 

I was driving my parents in my dad’s SUV, Jon was in his car right behind us. I watched in the rear-view mirror as his white Honda turned left while I went right. His hand waved goodbye and then I couldn’t see him anymore. At that exact moment, it felt like I had submerged into the ocean’s deepest current, water over my head. I knew I was alone. Just me, my mom, my dad, cancer and death.

That night on the phone Jon told me when he got back, Macchi had waited for me by the door. She was waiting and thinking I would be with him. It pierced my heart. I felt absolute agony at the distance between us. Then I felt guilt for self centered thoughts while my dad was dying.