My second year in college, everyone’s mom got cancer.
Well, it seems that way to me. My mom did. My sister’s best friend’s mom did. Two or three other Girl Scout and Dance and Nerd Moms also had cancer. I spent what seemed a lot of time driving down to be with my mom at chemo and radiation appointments, and there was always someone else’s mom there, too.
Most of the moms didn’t make it to college graduation. Mine did, praise God, and has been cleared for almost a decade.
Got word this week that one of the moms wasn’t as cleared as we thought. And it came back hard. She’s home, being herself with her husband and son, wearing rainbow fright wigs and bossing the hospice workers around.
And right as I’m getting into another bout of “another fucking funeral, awesome“, there’s a phone call.
I really hate phones, by the way. I hate talking on the phone for, well, pretty much no good reason. I rarely answer my phone.
I did this time. Chatted with a friend. He was playing it suave, asked about my holidays. Then he said, “Oh, C got me a really neat present. A little electronic stick with two lines at the end.”
I paused, parsed it out, made a guess, “A baby?”
“Yep”. Bastard sounded smug. “Due in August”
“BABY BABY BABY YAY!” I shouted in his ear, and then I cussed, “Shit, this makes three baby blankets I need to have done by this summer. Jackass. Couldn’t you-all have staggered these pregnancies?”
Death, birth, cycle, life, Disney song, bla bla bla. All that stuff.
It just keeps happening. Hallelujah.