was a wonderful man, but we
weren’t in love with each other,” had bought Megan time, but had
never stopped the inevitable, “I want to meet him!” from Olivia.
Megan’s standard answer seemed to have worked thus far, “You will,
honey, when you’re older.”
Now, Megan realized, she would not be the one
to hold Olivia tight when she was exposed to the truth about her
father. She would not be there to field her questions, or make her
understand the validity of why her father’s identity had been kept
from her, from everyone. Still, Megan remained unable to hand
Olivia the information that she herself, fourteen years later,
could not figure out the right way to expose. She knew how many
lives it would affect, and she wasn’t willing to risk losing those
closest to her when she was so close to the end of her own
life.
Megan thought of Olivia growing into her
twenties, and of all of the mother-daughter conversations she would
miss.
She thought of writing more—all of the
maternal advice that Olivia may need throughout those chaotic,
finding-yourself years, but the thought overwhelmed her. How could
she possibly think of every situation? Without knowing what
Olivia’s personality would be like at the time, how could she give
her any insight into hypothetical situations? no, she decided,
those conversations would be between Olivia and Holly, or whomever
Olivia trusted at the time. Trust —the word stung. Megan knew
she was breaking the biggest trust of all—to Olivia, to her dearest
friends, and to her mother. She could not bring herself to call her
mother. The last time she had visited, her mother had barely been
able to move and had been on so many medications that her cognition
had wavered. No, she’d rather remember her mother as she used to
be, and she could not bring herself to confuse her mother any
further than she already was.
She held the letter against her heart and
rested for another moment as she remembered the doctor’s words, This medication will only buy you time . She once again felt
the piercing pain that shot through her heart when she had been
told that the cancer was not only back, but had spread. There was
no beating the beast that gnawed away inside of her, silently
stealing her life.
She knew that she could not put Olivia
through any more turmoil than she’d already endured. The weeks of
chemo and radiation, the surgery and recovery—they were all too
much for Olivia, and she had clung to Megan and still had not let
go. Thank goodness for Holly. Holly had been there to nurture and
love Olivia when she, Olivia’s own mother, had been unable to open
her eyes, when all she had been able to do was throw up and sleep.
Holly had made sure Olivia had been well cared for, had taken her
to school, had checked her homework, had cooked her dinner, and had
even kept their home clean. She had been there for Olivia when she
had needed to be held, or needed a diversion from her mother’s
illness. Holly had, in Megan’s eyes, already started to become
Olivia’s mother.
Megan watched Olivia sleep, the note still
held tightly in her grasp. I don’t want you to remember me
dying , she thought. I want you to remember my love for
life . She sighed, disgusted at her frail limbs. Don’t
remember me like this, my mind and body withering away. Don’t
remember me sick. And please, Baby, forgive me. Forgive me for
taking myself away sooner than I had hoped. Forgive me for making
this decision for the both of us. Forgive me for not telling you
the truth about your father while I am still here to explain .
Despite her best efforts to withhold her emotions, she sobbed,
overwhelmed with the magnitude of the truth—she was dying.
Megan sat on her bed with the small mahogany
chest in her lap, her letter to Olivia safely locked inside. Her
fingers lingered over the smooth surface, the dips and angles of
its elegant design comfortably familiar. She closed her eyes as a
single tear slid down her cheek,
weren’t in love with each other,” had bought Megan time, but had
never stopped the inevitable, “I want to meet him!” from Olivia.
Megan’s standard answer seemed to have worked thus far, “You will,
honey, when you’re older.”
Now, Megan realized, she would not be the one
to hold Olivia tight when she was exposed to the truth about her
father. She would not be there to field her questions, or make her
understand the validity of why her father’s identity had been kept
from her, from everyone. Still, Megan remained unable to hand
Olivia the information that she herself, fourteen years later,
could not figure out the right way to expose. She knew how many
lives it would affect, and she wasn’t willing to risk losing those
closest to her when she was so close to the end of her own
life.
Megan thought of Olivia growing into her
twenties, and of all of the mother-daughter conversations she would
miss.
She thought of writing more—all of the
maternal advice that Olivia may need throughout those chaotic,
finding-yourself years, but the thought overwhelmed her. How could
she possibly think of every situation? Without knowing what
Olivia’s personality would be like at the time, how could she give
her any insight into hypothetical situations? no, she decided,
those conversations would be between Olivia and Holly, or whomever
Olivia trusted at the time. Trust —the word stung. Megan knew
she was breaking the biggest trust of all—to Olivia, to her dearest
friends, and to her mother. She could not bring herself to call her
mother. The last time she had visited, her mother had barely been
able to move and had been on so many medications that her cognition
had wavered. No, she’d rather remember her mother as she used to
be, and she could not bring herself to confuse her mother any
further than she already was.
She held the letter against her heart and
rested for another moment as she remembered the doctor’s words, This medication will only buy you time . She once again felt
the piercing pain that shot through her heart when she had been
told that the cancer was not only back, but had spread. There was
no beating the beast that gnawed away inside of her, silently
stealing her life.
She knew that she could not put Olivia
through any more turmoil than she’d already endured. The weeks of
chemo and radiation, the surgery and recovery—they were all too
much for Olivia, and she had clung to Megan and still had not let
go. Thank goodness for Holly. Holly had been there to nurture and
love Olivia when she, Olivia’s own mother, had been unable to open
her eyes, when all she had been able to do was throw up and sleep.
Holly had made sure Olivia had been well cared for, had taken her
to school, had checked her homework, had cooked her dinner, and had
even kept their home clean. She had been there for Olivia when she
had needed to be held, or needed a diversion from her mother’s
illness. Holly had, in Megan’s eyes, already started to become
Olivia’s mother.
Megan watched Olivia sleep, the note still
held tightly in her grasp. I don’t want you to remember me
dying , she thought. I want you to remember my love for
life . She sighed, disgusted at her frail limbs. Don’t
remember me like this, my mind and body withering away. Don’t
remember me sick. And please, Baby, forgive me. Forgive me for
taking myself away sooner than I had hoped. Forgive me for making
this decision for the both of us. Forgive me for not telling you
the truth about your father while I am still here to explain .
Despite her best efforts to withhold her emotions, she sobbed,
overwhelmed with the magnitude of the truth—she was dying.
Megan sat on her bed with the small mahogany
chest in her lap, her letter to Olivia safely locked inside. Her
fingers lingered over the smooth surface, the dips and angles of
its elegant design comfortably familiar. She closed her eyes as a
single tear slid down her cheek,
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