She looked so frail at that point; her cheeks were sunken, and she’d lost all the plumpness to her skin. The cancer had made her look older, somehow. It couldn’t, however, detract from how pretty she was. It was only a couple of months before she died, and her chemo had been stopped. Her hair had begun growing back since her last cycle had finished, and was now a pretty choppy pixie length. It looked good. I’m sure to any passerby she looked like any other teenage girl. Just a painfully thin one.
“I’ve been worrying about my parents, and my mom in particular. My dad, he’s strong. I know that when I go, he’ll be the rock that pulls my mom through. It’s her that I worry the most about. I hate the thought that she’s not going to be a mom anymore an—”
I raised my hand signaling for her to halt, and she rolled her eyes dramatically.
“You’ll always be her daughter, even when you’re not here. Gosh, Em, she will always be your mother. That doesn’t change when someone dies.”
I’m not sure what it was that had me so worked up, but hearing her speak those words, they squeezed painfully at my heart so tightly that I wanted to scream.
“Blair, I know that, but my mom lives for me; you know how she is. I’m her whole life, and that scares me more than dying. When the time comes…what will she do? Who will she live for? She gave up work to care for me so it’s not like she can immerse herself in that to keep her busy. She’s not really in contact with any of her old friends, and all her new ones are cancer moms. I’m pretty confident that she won't be able to keep going into the hospital to meet with them when I die, because it will be too raw for her. That’s the last place I’d want to be if it were me, don’t you think?”
I nodded my head but stayed quiet. I knew that if I tried to respond, my voice would crack and I’d be a blubbering mess in the middle of Starbucks.
“I want you to go visit with her sometimes. She’s so used to you being at our house; you’re a part of our family and I know without a doubt she’d hate it if you stopped seeing her. She thinks of you as a daughter, she always has. You’re in all of our family photo albums.”
“Of course, I’ll visit your parents. You should know that I wouldn’t just stop. They’re like my second mom and dad. I love them.”
“Oh, Blair…thank you.”
She ambushed me with a tight hug, and we sat for a long time in that embrace, both trying to hold back our tears.
I feel instantly guilty that I’ve not come back sooner. The memory of my best friend is the kick I needed, and I unbuckle my belt and jump out of the car before I can give myself time to change my mind.
“Blair, sweetheart!”
Pam’s voice booms as she flings the front door open and rushes down the path to intercept me with a squeeze. Her blonde hair is billowing in the breeze and she looks so much like Em that it hurts to see her.
“Hi Pam! How are you?”
“I’m fine, but never mind about me—how are you? Goodness baby girl, when your mom called and told Bill that you’d been involved in that crash…it was awful. We were both so worried about you. I’ve called Susan every day for an update on you.”
“I’m okay; I escaped pretty lightly,” I tell her as she steers me into the house that is the setting of so many of my childhood memories. There are pictures on every wall of Em, and I’m in a lot of them too. It feels nice and familiar to see them again. I spend a good two hours talking with Pam about what I’ve been doing since Em passed. I tell her about Ethan and me. I was a little worried at first; Pam knew all about Em’s crush. She seems genuinely happy that we are together, though. It’s a weight off my mind that I didn’t even realize I was carrying. She tells me all about the volunteer work she’s begun at the hospital and the support group that she and another of the moms that has gone through the same thing have set up. I’m so proud of her and I know Emily would be, too. She’s doing amazingly well. We both have a moment where we allow our tears to fall as we retell silly stories, and it feels so good to let it out. I’m about to leave when Pam announces that she’s started to pack Emily’s bedroom up. The thought upsets me. I realize that it needs to be done, and I’m sure it’s a lot harder for Pam and Bill to do than it is for me to hear about. It still aches so bad to know I’ll never see her again and that this isn’t some holiday that she’s on. She won’t be home soon; it’s forever, and it’s horrible.
“There are a few things in her room—pictures, journals, etcetera. I can’t keep them, but I don’t want to just throw them away. Would you want to take a look? Maybe you’d like to have some of them?”
“Yes!” I blurt out. The thought of her things being tossed out doesn’t sit well with me at all.