“Whitney, you are one of the strongest people I know. I was there, remember? I know what you did for your mother. You had to grow up way too soon. Do you think she would want this for you? Do you?”
“No,” I mumble.
“I think it’s time. I’ll be right back.” I watch as she sets her coffee cup on the table and walks out of the room. I take the time to get myself together, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Here,” she says, handing me an envelope a few minutes later.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for you. She wrote a lot of them. She wanted to give you words of wisdom on a few special events in your life. This is one of them. It’s come sooner than we expected—we hoped it never would, is more like it—but she was prepared, your mother. She had all of her bases covered.”
Looking down, I see my name scrawled across the front in Mom’s handwriting.
“I’ll give you some time to read it.” She grabs her coffee and leaves the room.
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and stare at the envelope. I run my finger across her fancy script. I was always envious of her penmanship. Taking a deep breath, I slide my finger under the lip and pull out a single sheet of paper.
Whit,
I had hoped that this day would never come. That you would never have to go through the pain and the fear of this disease. It’s my hope that you are older, much older, married with a few kids, and living a happy life. Don’t let this disease take that from you. I wish I was there to hold your hand like you did for me, but I’m sure you’ve chosen wisely and you have the love of a great man to do that for you. I know you, Whit. I know you’re scared and you want to save him from the pain, save your kids from the pain, but, baby girl, you can’t do that. Life is pain and sadness, but it’s also love and happiness and everything that is good too. Embrace that. Let him love you through it, Whit. Hold on to your babies and show them how much you love them. Cherish each day you have.
One more thing: fight, Whitney. Fight like hell to kick this. Your family needs you. I need you to fight hard and love harder. If you do that, you will have no regrets. I’m with you, Whitney Grace. I’m always with you. We got this, right?
Give that son-in-law and those grandbabies of mine big hugs. I love you, my sweet girl.
Mom
I let the paper fall to the table so I can wipe my tears. I’m sobbing so hard I could barely see the words.
“Oh, sweetie.” Kathy takes the seat next to me and pulls me to her. “I was going to save this one until I knew the results, but I thought with what you’re feeling about Aaron, this might help you. I was there when she wrote each one. I know what they say.”
“How many?”
“Not many. One for the day you get engaged, the day of your wedding, and the day you have your first baby. Those were events that she was sure would happen. This one”—she points to the letter on the table—“it was the last one, more of an afterthought, a just-in-case letter. She wanted to be here for you like you were for her.”
“I miss her, so much.”
“I know you do. I miss her too, but she makes a good point.”
“I’m scared, Kathy.”
“I know. I made your appointment for today for your MRI. I knew you would want to get it over with. We should have the results within a few hours of the test.”
“So today? I’ll know today?”
“Yeah, we should have a better idea of what the mammogram found today.”
“Right.” I square my shoulders. “I better get in the shower.”
“Why don’t you call him first?” she suggests.
“I-I can’t. I just. . . . Let’s do this test, okay?” I don’t wait for her to answer; I head to the shower. Time to face the music.
“Whitney,” a nurse calls me.
I stand and look at Kathy where she sits next to me in the private waiting room. “You coming with me?”
“No, I’ll let them do their thing. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
I nod and turn to follow the nurse down the hall. She leads me into a room and gives me a gown to change into. She describes the process of the MRI and what it will be able to tell us. She too assures me that the test will be read today and I will have the results before I leave here. It’s comforting that I don’t have to wait, but I’m still scared as hell.
For the next hour, I lie facedown in this narrow tube and try like hell not to move. The nurse—tech, whatever she is—talks to me through the speaker. “You’re doing great, Whitney,” she says through the intercom.
I let my mom’s letter replay in my mind and that leads me to Aaron. Everything leads back to Aaron. I know Kathy is right. I know I took his choice from him, but that’s my defense mechanism. I need to tell him. Once I have the results, I’ll go back. I’ll tell him everything and then . . . well, I don’t know what.
“You did great, Whitney. Just a few more minutes,” a kind voice comes over the intercom again.
After getting dressed, I head back to the private waiting room, and sure enough Kathy is still there. She smiles warmly.
“Thank you, Kathy.” I take the seat next to her. “I know I’ve been a pain in your ass. I’m sorry for that. I don’t know that I could have made it through this without you.”
She chuckles. “That hour gives you some time to reflect, huh?”
“Yeah.” I give her a sad smile. “Enough for me to know that I screwed up with Aaron too. I’m still scared, but if he’s willing to go at this with me. . . .”
“He will. Just remember, you took his right to choose. If you hadn’t, I have no doubt from the way you talk about him that he would be where I am right now. No matter what the results are today, her words mean more than this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let him love you through it, Whitney. Through life and every twist and turn in the road the two of you travel together. Let him love you through it.”
I don’t even have to think about it. That’s what I want. I’m pretty sure we were starting to build our path, and I ran scared. Just like my father. I freeze at the thought. Oh God, what did I do? I need to talk to him, to apologize. As soon as I get this day over with, I’m heading back and begging him to forgive me. For now, a text will have to do. I know he’s worried. I power on my phone and it vibrates like crazy. I have several missed calls and voice mails. I’ve opened the message app to text Aaron when my phone rings. It’s McKinley. Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhale before swiping the screen. “Hello,” I say softly.