Grace, pale faced and eyes brimming with tears, held her other hand.
Dr. Sumner lifted a paper from his desk and studied it. "Eight months ago, her white blood cell count was elevated. Not severely, but enough that I felt it necessary to do some scans. And you're right, those scans showed nothing, but this very aggressive cancer was likely in its beginning stages back then."
"How long do I have?" Mom's voice was so quiet Gabe almost didn't hear her, but his chest constricted at the resignation in her tone.
Dr. Sumner gave them each a sympathetic look before answering. "It's hard to say. Three to six months maybe. Although I've seen people with stage four pancreatic cancer live twelve to fifteen months."
Three months?
Gabe struggled to draw in a full breath under the weight of the elephant that sat on his chest.
"No." Sobbing, Grace spoke for the first time since they entered Dr. Sumner's office. "There has to be something we can do. Aren't there drugs that slow the growth of cancer cells?"
"There are. I don’t know how effective they’ll be when the cancer is this aggressive, but I'd like Marisol to take them." Another sympathetic look accompanied his next words. "They might buy you a little time, which I encourage you to make the most of. Make lasting memories and…" his gaze returned to Gabe's mom, "get your affairs in order."
A little more time is not enough!
Mom let out a heavy sigh as she slowly nodded.
Grace's sobs intensified.
Gabe felt his face crumble as pain, sharp and swift, pierced his chest. He sucked in a deep breath and schooled his features. Mom and Grace needed him to be strong. He could let out all these horrible emotions that threatened to suffocate him later. When he was alone.
The three of them were quiet, their footsteps slow and heavy as they left the oncologist's office. Mom carried the card of a trained professional who could help them navigate this horrible nightmare they'd been thrust into. Why anyone would choose to go into such a line of work was beyond Gabe.
He'd planned to take them out for a celebratory lunch after they got the news that his mom's latest scans didn’t show anything to be concerned about. But that didn't happen, and now, he didn't think he could eat if his life depended on it.
The twenty-minute drive home felt like an eternity as they each processed the shell-shocking news. The silence in the car grewheavier with each mile and so did the ache in his throat and burning behind his eyes. Grace's soft sniffles drifted from the backseat occasionally, but Gabe couldn't bring himself to look at her in the rear-view mirror. If he did, he would lose it. He was barely keeping it together as it was. Seeing his mom wipe away silent tears every couple of miles didn't help.
When they walked through the front door of the small home Mom rented—and eventually purchased—after the divorce, she gave them a weak smile. "I'm not hungry, but you kids make sure you get some lunch. I'd like to rest for a bit, then we'll talk about what needs to be done over dinner." Her soft footfalls shuffled down the hall. The click of her bedroom door sounded as lethal as the cocking of a gun.
What needs to be done.
The ache in his chest expanded, creating a massive void. How did he help his mom get her affairs in order? And how was he supposed to be strong for her and Grace when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry?
"Why?” Grace dropped onto the couch, huddled into the corner with her knees hugged to her chest. “Why Mom? Why does it have to be cancer again?" Anger and resentment deepened her voice.
Gabe didn't even try to answer as he sank down beside her, because his own angry thoughts echoed hers. Despite everything she'd been through in her life, his mom had always taught them to put their faith and trust in God. But Gabe wasn't sure he could do that anymore.
Why had God allowed this to happen? This time there wouldn't be a remission. A cold chill swept over him as the beat of his heart slowed to an agonizingly painful drumming. How were he and Grace ever going to cope without their mother?
The pain in Grace's big brown eyes tore at his heart. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head.
Great wracking sobs shook her shoulders, and her tears soon soaked his shirt. Her pain magnified his own, and he let go of the control he'd been fighting to keep on his own emotions.
At first his tears were silent, then before long, his angry sobs rivaled Grace's.
"We should makea list of things that need to be done." Mom's quiet voice sounded like a thunderclap around the silent kitchen table.
Grace's fork clattered to her plate as she clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle yet another sob.
Gabe's stomach clenched. He set down his own fork. He'd only taken a few bites of his enchiladas—their favorite comfort food—but his appetite dissipated with his mom's words.
Mom had yet to touch her food.
"I talked to Mr. Henessy this afternoon and told him about…my diagnosis. He was shocked and quite upset, of course."
Welcome to the club.
