Turbo Cancer: Day 102 - September 21, 2022
Steven
Almost all of this day, last year, felt perfect.
Until the end.
At the end of the day, the world fell apart.
My mom’s cancer had been a shock, but we had come to accept it. We had figured out how to live with it.
My mom woke up feeling good. She was excited. It was a big day.
Penny had been planning an event. My mom was to be the guest of honor.
My mom was in two book clubs. She was in her neighborhood book club, and she was in her old friend’s book club.
Penny had been planning a meeting of the old friend’s book club. She had taken all of my mom’s needs into consideration.
We had been praying that my mom would feel well enough to attend, and she did.
It was a lovely day.
It was warm and sunny, with a cool breeze.
My mom’s immune system was compromised. The meeting was on Penny’s screen porch, which provided ample ventilation.
There was delicious food, beautiful decorations and a comfortable, easily accessible chair for my mom. From her chair, she was able to enjoy both the weather and the company of friends.
Penny had thought of everything. It was perfect.
It was such a lovely afternoon. My mom was comfortable and happy. I was relaxed. For the briefest moment, it felt as if things had been right in the world. It felt as if things had been normal again.
But what is normal, anyway?
During the party, my mom and I both got calls from an unknown California number. We assumed it was spam. We ignored the calls.
It was such a lovely day.
There was talking, eating and laughter. Eventually, my mom got tired. We got into the car, drove home, climbed the stairs, and got into bed.
We both felt happy and satisfied.
We decided to watch TV.
It had been such a good day.
My son, Elijah, called. He said that the Park Forest Police had come to the door. He said that the officer had left the number of an investigator in California. He said that the investigator wanted to talk to me.
For some reason, I didn’t want to make the call from my mom’s house. I wanted to go home.
It was a five minute drive. It felt ominous. It was obvious that something was wrong.
When I got home, I went directly to the backyard. I sat down on a patio chair. I called the number that Elijah had given to me.
The voice on the phone expressed her sympathy. She told me that she was very sorry, but that my oldest son, my first baby, Steven, had died, of a fentanyl overdose, in the bathroom of a Whole Foods, in San Francisco, California.
While I was listening to her words, Elijah came outside. He wanted to find out what was going on.
Elijah had been the closest to Steven in age. He and Steven were from a previous, failed relationship. Until I met my current husband, it had been just the three of us.
I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want it to be true.
With Elijah standing there, I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t able to use my voice.
While still on the phone with the investigator, I walked away.
I walked from the backyard to the front. I walked down the driveway. I walked to the end of the block. I turned the corner. I walked down the sidewalk. When I reached the next corner, I crossed the street.
I kept walking.
I was still on the phone, but I was no longer comprehending the words that were being said to me. At some point, the phone call ended.
I kept walking.
I kept walking and walking until, eventually, my husband found me. He got me in the car and took me back home.
Oh my goodness…I was not prepared to read this. Tragedy upon tragedy…your precious son. 💔💔💔
Absolutely heartbreaking, Kristi. Everyone will experience loss and grief during their lifetime but I have always thought that the death of a child must be the most painful experience that anyone has to go through.