Although it’s been a while, I occasionally have guest posters. In this case, Barbara has submitted a lengthy story that seemed somewhat appropriate for the site. I hope you enjoy!
Exactly two months after my mother’s death I found the locket she gave me on my eighteenth birthday. A trinket that has been lost for eight months. I misplaced it on the day I started my second year in college and gave up searching for it after two months.
But now, as I sit on the floor of my college dorm room, I burst into tears holding the locket between shaking fingers as the memories flood my mind and it feels like a punch to the gut.
“Your mother has terminal breast cancer. It is very unlikely that she will recover, she should get her affairs in order,” the Doctor puts a sympathetic hand on my shoulder before leaving the room.
I look towards my mom’s sleeping form, the tubes and the machines hurting me deeply. It’s very hard to look at the woman who gave you life as she is losing her own. It’s taking all of my will power not to burst into tears and scream about how unfair the whole situation is. I just can’t figure it out; how could she be healthy as a horse and then all of a sudden on her death bed?
It’s so messed up.
I sniffle after a long cry, wipe the tears from my face and fasten the locket around my neck. I always think my grief has subsided until I’m reminded of her, then I feel empty again. It’s been a long time since I genuinely smiled or laughed so hard my muscles hurt. I have been feeling so lost and I don’t know when I’ll find myself again, but I’m hoping it is soon because depression is exhausting.
I wash my face in the bathroom sink and inhale deeply a few times before returning to my bed to do some studying. I have a test in two classes this week and a falling math grade to pull up.
However, it isn’t long after I crack open my textbook that my roommate and best friend of eight years comes running into the room, huffing and puffing.
The blonde’s normally immaculate appearance is in disarray and I can see splotchy red marks on her neck. Her shirt is inside out and backwards and she is carrying her heels.
Someone was visiting the fraternity this afternoon, I snicker to myself.
“How was your day?” I ask her, closing my textbook and swinging my legs over the edge of my bed.
She sets her shoes down in the corner. “I have to tell you something, I just don’t want you to think poorly of me for bringing it up,”
I look into her slanted brown eyes, wide with worry and excitement. “Go on,”
“I know you have been sad since your mom passed away,” she sits down next to me and grabs my hands. “And I think you should do something important to honor her memory, something to raise awareness for breast cancer and those who don’t win the fight against it,”
I desperately try not to let the heartbreak show. The crumbling feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me want to vomit. This topic is so touchy…
But, regardless, I encourage her to continue. “Like what?”
“There is this challenge going around campus, and the internet, called the Bra-less experience. Women go a week without their bra, spreading awareness online and in their everyday lives, plus there is a donation page to link to online,” she smiles at me, unsure.
I look at her, thinking deeply about the challenge. Part of me wants to say no because it won’t bring my mom back, but part of me wants to say yes because I want to help raise money for research. I have been feeling lost and helpless about this whole situation, and maybe doing a sort of charity work will help me feel better. Continue reading