Two weeks ago I'd gotten the urge to finally press down on the small twitter icon under the cool surface of glass which I'd tried to avoid each and every day since our shared Periscope. I'd done a good enough job steering clear of it for three weeks, only touching the object to turn off the notifications I had set up; this included all the notifications I'd had programmed specifically for him on every social media account I owned. It was just too hard seeing someone interact so freely with others knowing he wasn't sharing the same feeling of mourning that I've been. I couldn't stand the feeling of being forgotten so easily by my own hero. The one who's music kept me going through everything. It hurt too much. Then again, I also couldn't stand the overwhelming guilt that came along with how selfish manor with which I was currently behaving.

With this guilt also came a realization: Why was I choosing to be so irrationally upset and blocking out the one thing that's continued to make me happy through this entire hospital experience?

So, exactly two weeks ago, figuring since it'd been almost a month since we'd talked and that I should definitely stop acting childish, I gave in.

My thumbs shook above the keypad as letter by letter I carefully typed out:

Hi Brendon, it's Alyssa :) from Periscope

My mind urged me to press the button to send it out to Twitter, but nevertheless my thumbs stayed still. I began to argue with myself momentarily about what would happen once I sent it, and what would happen if I didn't.

That was when the phone rang.

Curious if this was the call my mother and I had been waiting for, I laid my phone down gently on my bed and began making my way into the living room. By the time I'd reached my bedroom door, my mother was already at the receiver, phone in hand.

"This is she," I tried to watch for any sign of emotion on her face, but she turned away from my view as she replied again "Yes,"

The amount of silence that followed was unbearable. Everything was overwhelmingly quiet; the kind where it makes you question if your hearing has somehow suddenly stopped working.

Waiting in noiseless agony, I held my breath until the words escaped my mother's mouth, "Alright, thank you."

Her back still turned to me, I watched as five seconds passed, and then ten. She didn't move. The doctor had to have hung up by now, but she stayed completely still, phone in hand. At twenty three seconds I realized she was shaking, and that's when I heard the first muted sob escape from her throat... and at twenty seven, I had fallen to my knees.

Because I knew what this meant.

"Oh, angel," I heard, as my mother realized I'd been listening, "I'm so sorry."

My shaking palms caught each tear that fell from my face, as my nightmare-like prediction was confirmed: my cancer was back.

My mother dropped to the floor beside me and held me as if I were a young child again, as flashbacks of everything I'd been through in these past months came flooding back into each of our minds; and there, we cried together.