Watching my daughter battle an illness at 17 was the hardest thing I’d ever faced as a mother. I thought the surprise waiting in her hospital room would be the most emotional part of the night, but I was wrong.
The hospital coffee in my hand had gone cold an hour ago, but I kept holding it as if it were the only solid thing left in my life.
Six months had passed since the word “leukemia” walked into our living room and refused to leave. My daughter, Carol, was 17, and I was a single mom who’d learned to smile through things no smile should have to cover.
I kept holding it as if it were the only solid thing left.
***
My daughter used to cut dresses from magazines and tape them to her bedroom mirror.
“Mom, promise you’ll do my hair that night,” she’d say, even back when she was in the fifth grade.
“I promise, baby. I’ll do your hair for every prom you ever have.”
Now her hair was gone, and the magazine pictures were still taped to the mirror at home, waiting.
I sat by her hospital bed that afternoon, watching her doze.
“I promise, baby.”
The latest round of chemo had hollowed Carol out in a way the others hadn’t.
