D Day Minus 239 (July 12, 2009)

“What was that,” You said as you galloped and creaked down the stairs from your bedroom. I had let loose one of my guttural diet soda burps in the kitchen.

“Mom,” you are supposed to be cutting back on that crap! You know fake stuff is bad for you.” I half smiled as I remembered the night I fell off wagon. You know, last month when you, Dad, and I did the all night caravan to move all Grandma Joneses stuff from Ohio to Bassett.

“I am cutting back.” I said as I crossed my toes. “I know it is full of all kinds of things that cause cancer.” You raised your eyebrows and tightened your lips so they almost disappeared while you turned on Food TV to watch Everyday Italian. I surfed Amazon while you spelunked through the pantry.

“So, how is Katie?” I asked just after I bought some books on writing for my Kindle. We knew the rhythm of waiting, fearing, and hoping since you found the lump on your groin just before finals your senior year at George Mason over two years ago. “She’s freaked.” You said as you dropped Chex mix into your mouth like dispenser.

“Did she Google melanoma?” I asked knowing how I felt the first time I researched it – the dire statistics on mortality, the stages of melanoma, the standards of cares, the maze of clinical trial information, the quacks, the alternatives. It still made me freak. “Probably, she is a smart girl and would want to know for herself.” My throat tightened and I forced myself to breathe in and out. “I love you, Mom.” I smiled.

“Katie wants to come to my PET scan.” I nodded my head yes, but my heart started racing –“Is she going to stick around if things go south? Are you going to be honest with how you feel about her? Are there really second chances?" You touched my arm and said, “She really wants to be there.”