The Autumn of 1996 was such a roller coaster of a season.
My mother had been to and from the doctor’s so many times for treatments for her cancer. She had Lymphoma, Non-Hodgkins, and a lot of times she had to stay over night or for weeks at a time.
I lived near the High School, was 14 and a freshman at the time, so I would come home until my aunt came to pick me up so I wouldn’t have to stay alone. For about two weeks straight, that was the routine – I’d come home to an empty house until someone came for us (my brother and I).
Until one day.
I opened the door and my mama was there with a huge smile on her face. She was so happy that she’d gone into remission and all was well. We laughed, hugged, and it was perfect.
Until late October. I had to be silly enough to listen in on a phone call and the doctor told her that the cancer had returned. I was so mad, angry, and hurt.
She passed away a few weeks later – November 11th to be exact.
Fall of 1996 – the best of times and the worst. We were so close to our happy.
And to be honest, for the longest time when I opened that door, I hoped that it was all just a bad dream and she would be there. Probably in the back of my mind, when I go to that house to visit, I still hope that.
In response to today’s Daily Prompt
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” — Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
When was the last time that sentence accurately described your life?