The Most Important Question

I knew I would only get out if I had a fever. They try to avoid sending kids home, especially ones who are perfectly healthy looking on the outside. I gently banged my head against my desk to increase the blood flow and warmth to my head. I tried to be discreet but in hindsight I find it incredibly amusing to think about how it must have looked and what the other kids must have thought.  I didn't care what they thought when I was 9.

Well that's not true, I cared terribly but not today. Not in this moment. It wasn't that I disliked fourth grade. I liked it well enough. I enjoyed learning and got good grades without trying too hard. Mr. Jenkins was entertaining and tried his best to make the lesson plans appealing. Last week I would have listened in earnest. Last week I would have happily stayed. Last week I didn't think my Mother was dying.

I raised my hand. "Yes Katie" Mr. Jenkins said as he looked at me half filled with pity and half filled with exasperation. I mustered up my best weak and sick voice "Mr. Jenkins, I don't feel well. I need to go to the nurse." "Okay Katie, go on" he motioned towards the door. I arrived at the Nurse's office and she too had that same look in her eyes. I didn't recognize it at the time but looking back I know exactly what it was. “Wow. Sick again Katie?" "Yes. I really don't feel well. I believe I need to go home." The kind School nurse obliged.   "Let me just check your temperature. 99.5. Well you do have a fever. Let's call your Mother."  We had gone through the same rigmarole for the past week or so. My poor mother came to pick me up even though I'm certain she didn't feel well. She never scolded me or told me I had to stay in school. She never complained that she had to come and pick me up day after day. I think she was grateful to have what she thought may be her last moments with me as well. Selfishly, as one of six, this was the only way I knew how to steal a moment for just me, just us. 

I remember the day she told us she had Cancer. We were in the car coming home from school.  Not wanting to worry us, she tried her best to be calm, cool and collected and to compose herself as much as possible.  She stated it almost matter of factly as she pulled the car into our driveway and put it in park. It felt like time stopped in that moment and suddenly everything was in slow motion.

I remember the way her hand pulled the lever up to park and the sound it made.  It felt like she was clumsily attempting to throw a period onto an endless run on sentence.  She seemed half terrified and half relieved that she had finally broken the news to her children.  If we would have left it at that she would have probably gone confidently about her day, preparing dinner and remaining positive, all the while worrying when the "D" question would finally arrive and who would be the one to ask it.  

I couldn't leave it at that though.  My sister and brother sat quietly but I immediately sensed the trepidation in her voice and as my voice quivered, I asked her if she was going to die. Choking back tears and filled with fear she mustered the only honest answer she could, "I don't know."  Her voice trembled.  She sounded so weak.  I had never seen my Mother look or sound anything close to weak. She was the strongest person I knew.  

I felt my eyes well up with tears and a painful lump in my throat.  I wanted to be strong for her too so I choked them down and looked out of the window.  I was desperate to find something, anything else to focus on so I could keep from crying.  It was a gorgeous day.  It was sunny but we were half shaded underneath the large pine tree next to our driveway.  I remember the scattered pattern of shadows from the pine tree shade, the sound of the birds chirping and cars steadily passing on our busy street.  I didn't ask any more questions.  There wasn't a point.  My omnipotent Mother did not have the answer to the most important question I had ever uttered and that felt like a punch to the gut.