DIANGELO
Present
“It’s sogood to see you!” Mom gives me a hug that borders on aggressive, coaxing a smile from me.
“I know, I know. That was way too long between visits. I’m sorry about that.”
Dad waves his hand before giving me a hug of his own. “That’s life sometimes. We’re just glad you’re here.”
“Dad has ground hamburger all seasoned, and I made potato salad. There should also be some cut-up watermelon in the fridge, if your father hasn’t eaten it all,” she adds with a playful jab.
“That sounds perfect,” I say. “What can I help with?”
Dad motions to the fridge. “How about you grab us a couple of beers, and we can sit on the patio for a few minutes while the grill warms up?”
“Sure, you want one, too, Ma?”
“Nah, I’ll stick to my soda today.” She raises a purple insulated tumbler and makes her way outside.
My parents have a nice little single-family home in the Bronx with a patio out back and a small patch of grass. I offered to upgrade them when I started making money. They insisted they didn’t need more than what they had. I can only assume a large part of their desire to stay had to do with keeping Elio’s memory alive. It’s understandable.
I sit at the glass patio table in one of the four swivel deck chairs. Considering it’s almost mid-September, the temps are still high, but the aquamarine awning overhead keeps the sun off us. Between that and the undulating fan Dad installed years ago, it’s surprisingly comfortable outside.
“How have you guys been?” I ask after taking a sip from my beer.
They look ever so briefly at one another before Mom plasters a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“We’re mostly good?—”
“Mostly?” I’m not sure what is going on, but I already don’t like it.
“Let me finish,” she chides me. “I was in for my annual checkup a while back, and my mammogram showed an abnormality.”
My stomach lurches, then bottoms out in my feet. An abnormality? What the fuck have I missed here?
She continues as my mind races. “They aren’t sure that it’s cancer,” she says as if that’s supposed to reassure me. “But Dad and I have talked, and we decided it’s safest to just do the double mastectomy and eliminate the risk.”
“You have breast cancer?” My ears ring so loudly that it’s hard to hear my own words.
“They’ll biopsy the tissue after surgery, so we won’t know until then. We could biopsy now and discuss treatment options based on the type of mass, but we aren’t interested in dragging itout. I’d rather have the surgery and give myself the best possible chances.”
Best chances of survival.
While I’ve been self-absorbed with my own issues, my parents have had to wrestle with the knowledge that Mom could die.
I’ve lived my entire life under the false assumption that my parents would always be around. Obviously, I knew their time would come eventually, but never so soon. I thought I’d have plenty more time.
God, please give me more time with them.
“If they do the surgery, you’ll be okay?” I sound like a kid again because I feel like one. Helplessness and fear attack from both sides, bringing me to my knees.
“They can never guarantee that they’ll get all the cells, but the chances of a recurrence are very small. The prognosis is really optimistic, sweetie, I promise.” She gives me a sad smile, then stands and rounds the table to hug me where I sit, stunned.
I cling to her.
I cling to a life I wish I’d known. A life with family that I turned my back on out of self-loathing and shame. My parents didn’t deserve that. They didn’t deserve to be collateral damage in my war against myself.
How can I ever possibly make up for all the hurt I’ve caused?
