“Grief doesn’t really work on a schedule,” I said. “I don’t think either of us fully processed it either, honestly. I just happened to have five years of a toddler keeping me too busy to notice how much I hadn’t.”
“Do you think Nora’s going to be okay?” he asked, quieter now. “Genuinely. Not the version of the answer you think I need to hear.”
“I think she has considerably better odds than Mom ever had,” I said. “I think she has a father who’s terrified enough to make sure she never misses a single one of those dermatology appointments for the rest of her childhood. I think that fear, once you’ve actually processed it instead of running from it, is going to make you a better parent than most people manage to be without ever facing anything like it at all.”
PART 11
Nora is two years old now. Her nevus has stayed stable through six consecutive dermatology visits, no concerning changes, exactly the kind of unremarkable, boring medical news that Desmond has told me, more than once, feels like the best possible news he could ever receive.
