Personal Narrative: Jaliyah's Illness

Decent Essays
“He has cancer! The doctor said he has a week to two months to live,” my mother blubbered. I will always remember the feeling of emptiness that followed those words. My uncle, Tony, had been in and out of the hospital for over a month with doctors saying things like “it won’t hurt him to lose any weight and he is depressed from having his teeth removed.” A million questions started running through my head. “Why him?” I mean he has already been through so much and having Down Syndrome makes it so hard for him to understand what is going on with him. “Why did it take them so long to find it?” He was literally there the night before and they sent him home with an antibiotic. “How does someone who has never smoked get throat cancer?” This question…show more content…
“Will my daughter think that I am a liar, how will she handle this, how do I tell her, and will she even understand?” When we got in the car she asked, “where are we going?” Then, “but why we just saw him yesterday?” “You said he wasn’t going to die!” My heart broke into a million pieces as I answered her questions. While I was driving I kept asking myself more and more questions, but I honestly didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I could answer these questions. I am a worrier that is what I do, I am a protector that is who I have always been, I am the strong one I was never given the option to not be, I am the realistic one I was the only one, and I was the mother I had to be. “Who was going to tell my sisters?” They needed to have someone to lean on because our mother has never been that. So, of course I do it. I call Courtney and tell her, because I know she will find more comfort in speaking to our aunt. “What about Ashley?”
I pulled in front of Ashley’s job just as she was about to get off, and when she saw my face she knew something was not right. I heard her say, “if my uncle is dead I will not be in tomorrow.” I tried to hold back the tears. I knew I had to be the strong one for everyone, but for
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She raised three generations of kids and she was ready to go. They both got better eventually and got to go home, but seven months after her release from ICU my grandmother passed. That floor gives me the heebie-jeebies. Tony had not been in the hospital since that time they were on the floor together, and I told him then that he couldn’t go because it was grandma’s time not his. He listened, he got better, and I mean amazingly better. The questions, the stupid freaking questions. “Do I tell him he can’t leave me I need him, do I tell him he has to fight this, or do I hold his hand and tell him it is ok, we will be ok, and he can rest now?” As I barged through those doors and into that room, that very same room where three years before I had told him he had to make it, everything and everyone was a blur. All of those questions went away in an instant. When I saw his face with tears rolling down it a huge part of me died. I have seen him whine, I have seen him on different machines, I have seen him on life support, and I have seen him in this very same ICU room multiple times, but I have never seen him cry. I knew this time was so different. “Only two at a time, and the child can’t be in here.” I wanted to smack that nurse. “Did she not realize that he is dying and that this may be the last time my child and I will see
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