“Nicole has cancer. Stage four. She’s known for a while. I’m sorry.” I stared at the doctor and I could swear my knees felt wobbly like they were about failing me.

“Is there…is there hope?” I stammered.

“She has been undergoing treatment for a while but her body is not responding to any of it. But hey, that doesn’t mean we will stop trying. Who knows? A miracle might happen.” I nodded slowly.

The doctor was lying to me. I knew it. I could see it in his eyes. There was no hope. Nicole was dying. My mom was dying.

Talk about things happening to me out of the blues. My mom had cancer. Cancer. I didn’t have a plan for that. Not even once had I thought that my mom would one day die. I mean if I did, I would have visited her more often, spent more time with her or something like that. It never crossed my mind and I had never planned for it.

Three days ago, my girlfriend, no, ex-girlfriend dumped me. Publicly. As if that wasn’t enough, I found out my mom had cancer, all in the same week. It was too much, even for a guy that planned everything.

It was like heaven was playing a fast joke on me. Like God and his angels were peering down at me like some star in a reality TV show and they were saying let’s see what he is going to do now.

I took three long and deep breaths and wiped my very sweaty palms on my shirt. I remember forcing my lips to smile as I walked into the hospital room where my mom was.

“Hey mom.” I tried to sound relaxed but the insides of me screamed, kicked or whatever they did when I was afraid.

“Roman.” She said slowly with a faint smile.
The back of my throat shook as I looked at her laying on that bed, all weak, pale and thin. Too thin. Why didn’t I notice this? I asked myself.

Maybe if I visited more often, maybe if I didn’t distant myself from her, I would have known. I would have known she was sick.

After my dad left, my mom’s life fell apart. She never got over him. She clung to some hope that he would return back to her, to us. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months and months into years and my dad never returned.

My mom became depressed and she turned to alcohol to ease whatever pains she felt. I never understood what she was going through or why she held on to someone who didn’t give a damn about her.

You can call it love or obsession, I called it foolishness. Maybe because I didn’t understand what it felt like to love another with everything you have? I didn’t understand how a person could sacrifice everything for love.

Love. What was that anyways? Even with Sally, I knew if it came down to sacrificing everything for her and letting her go, I would gladly let her go.

Because I didn’t understand my mom, I withdrew myself from her. Seeing her throw her life away was sad and it annoyed the hell out of me and I decided to stay away. That was probably the worst mistake I made in my life.

I should have been there for her. I should have understood her. I should have loved her unconditionally.

I moved out of the house after college and she didn’t even stop me.

“Always know that I love you my son.” She had said.

It must have sucked, being judged by your own flesh and blood. That was what I did. I judged her for not being strong. I judged her for trying to ease her pain. I’m not saying that she was right for always drowning herself in alcohol, I’m saying maybe it wouldn’t have been very bad if I didn’t give up on her too early.

“Why didn’t you tell me mom? Why?” I gently squeezed her hand. I didn’t know which hurt me more. That my mom was sick or that she hid it from me.

“I didn’t want to bother you son.” I felt worse. She was my mother and I was her son. How could she bother me? Was that how she felt? Like a burden to me?

“Mom, I promise we will do everything we can to make you feel better, to make you get better.” I brought her hand to my lips and pressed it against my lips.

“No son. I’m exhausted. No more treatment. No more. I have no strength for any of it. Please Roman, just take me home.”

The tears I held back fell and she noticed.

“Please don’t cry. Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it.”
I looked at my mom and emotions flooded through me. Love, anger, pity, pain.

She didn’t want to fight anymore. She was tired. It was written all over her. If she wanted to go home, then I would take her home, I thought. I will try to make her last days peaceful and happy, I promised myself.

“Would you like to stay with me? In my house?”

“Yes son. I would like that.”
                     _________________
“Here you go mom. Have some water.” I said. She was out of the hospital and we just got home, to my house.

“Thank you son. The house looks…”

“Untidy?”

She smiled, making me notice her chapped lips. “Like it’s in desperate need of a woman’s touch.”

A woman’s touch. What does that even mean? I looked around. Maybe she was right. Sally didn’t care about things like cleaning and interior decoration wasn’t her forte. I cleaned often, but I hadn’t done any cleaning for some days. My house looked as chaotic as my mind was.

I know I promised to make my mom’s last days happy and peaceful but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know my mom. I didn’t know what she liked or places she dreamt of going or activities she enjoyed. I knew nothing and the little I knew, I had forgotten. I needed help. I knew I needed help.

Like I said earlier, I totally forgot there was a God. Sure I attended Sunday services with my mom and dad when my family was still whole. My mom made sure I never missed Sunday school and we attended most of the midweek services. But I forgot everything. I chose to forget it all. My family got broken and God watched. He did nothing and so I chose to forget Him. I decided it was better if I didn’t believe.

I knew I should have been furious with Him again for allowing Nicole get sick but I wasn’t. I wasn’t angry at God and I can’t explain why. Instead, I felt I needed Him. Damn, I needed to believe in something. That was the only way I could get through the challenges I faced.

So when my mom slept that day at the hospital, I prayed. It was funny. I forgot how to pray. The last time I prayed was when I was twelve, almost twenty years ago. I didn’t know what to say or what to ask for.

I knelt down there, eyes closed for about five minutes, saying nothing. Then the words flowed out of my mouth.

“Lord, I need help. Send me help.” I don’t know why I didn’t ask Him to heal my mom and make all my problems go away instead I asked Him for help. Those were the words that came out of my mouth. I didn’t know if He heard me. Heck, I didn’t even believe He would answer if He heard.

“I’m sorry about Sally.” My mom’s voice jerked me out of my thoughts.

“You heard.” Not like I was surprised.

“Yes. Small town. How are you son?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Please don’t worry about anything. I need you to be relaxed.”

She smiled. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything Mom. Just ask.”

“Could you tell your dad I’m sick? Maybe that would make him come.”

If she had said this a week ago, I would have gotten mad, I would have raised my voice at her, I would have walked out on her.

I looked at her and I smiled. I didn’t understand her but I didn’t judge her anymore.
“Done.” I said.

My dad sent my mom money every month, -at least he still had a conscience, - money for our upkeep and for my studies. Maybe that was why my mom believed he still cared.

If telling him she was sick would make him visit her and make her happy, I was willing to do it. With the way I felt, I was willing to do anything for my mother.