A Mother's Tears • Ch. 12 of 16

The Moment Everything Changed

It was 2015, Springtime—, the trees were sprouting leaves, the L-trains were slowly repopulating, people no longer needed to dress in dozens of layers. I had lived in Chicago for almost two years when one average afternoon, I saw ‘Mom’ flash across my cellphone. I answered and within a minute she was relaying the news.

“They found something,” she quietly said, referring to a recent mammogram. I consoled her as best I could, reassuring her that it was “probably nothing.” All the while, hoping to believe my own words that I was trying so hard to convince her of. I told my mom that I loved her as usual, ended the call, and sat in silence for a few seconds before giving a kick to my wooden bed frame in despair, splintering it in two. An x-ray and ultrasound later; lung cancer and Hodgkin Lymphoma—, her third and fourth cancers, respectively.

A Cold and Strange World

I’d been walking down the main street from my second studio apartment a few weeks prior when I noticed a boutique selling fashionable shoes and thought to apply for a position within. I entered and a well-dressed man of about fifty stood up from behind the desk in the back of the shop.

“Hello—,” he said.

“Hello, I was just walking by and saw your store,” I said, looking over the small space. There were random boots hanging from the ceiling, boxes piled on top of each other, and shoes of every kind displayed all around. “I was wondering if you needed any help,” I continued, hoping for the best. He did—, and gladly told me to come back in a week for training. We’d become good friends in a matter of a month when I told him about my mother’s diagnosis.

“What type of cancer does she have?,” he asked. I told him though couldn’t help but ask what was really on my mind.

“Have you ever heard of someone beating it more than twice?,” I said, thinking of her third let alone fourth onset with the disease. He looked at me quietly before lowering his eyes and shaking his head “no.” I didn’t know what I could do—, I felt helpless and hopeless. The thought of my mom having to go back through all the treatments enraged me from within and only added more fuel to my ever-growing fire. With nowhere else to place the hatred—, I began blaming God. It was the worst decision I could’ve made. Instead of running to Him with my worries and placing them in His hands, I pushed away as hard as I could, knowing I’d rather be on my own than with the uncertainty of a higher power healing my mother once more. So on my own is how He let me be. The world began seeming colder and stranger—, things which used to make sense were no longer logically sound. Life and death; the journey we all take once were chosen for it now seemed pointless. Pain and suffering; the feelings we all go through once we’re given free will now seemed cruel. Everything was finally foreign. Without the guidance of my heavenly Father, I was an orphaned adult searching for meaning within a chaotic existence. I wondered what my spiritual mentor would’ve said to me during those days. The thought of calling him crossed my mind several times but I couldn’t bring myself to dial the full number—, I was too embarrassed of my thoughts.

Whirling Stars

I began making poor decisions—, story of my life. The people I was hanging around changed, the drinks I was downing got stronger, and the recklessness of casual hooking up was reaching new heights. I hid all of my feelings deep beneath the surface. Keeping a smile on my face at all times, some of my closest friends could tell how fake it truly was.

“I don’t need to know everything to know you’re going through something,” a good friend said. She could feel the desperation I exuded with each new step I took. While I tried in vain to hide my situation, it only got worse. My soundtrack escaped through speakers submerged underwater—, somewhere far below, I could still make out the beats counting my seconds like a muffled metronome. The stars in my sky whirled above, leaving lines of fading light behind like a shot with the shutter permanently opened. The days’ edges began blurring into one another. My new pattern; an old kaleidoscope.

Riding around in the passenger seats of a hundred different cars, I leaned out the windows and closed my eyes, breathing in the stiff night air. I was filling my lungs with more fumes than oxygen and coating their blackened corners with more tar than anything else. The convoys would crawl along the streets in slowed convertible movements—, accented by the thumping sounds of pounding subs coming from out the dozens of duffle bag-sized trunks. My life began looking like the video for ‘Jump Out the Face’ in every way possible; melodic strings set the mood in minor tones, trap drumrolls resembled our rapid heartbeats like spinning revolvers, and lines of thread on the wall connected everyone and everything together like a collage of chaos. These were the memories I made during the last summer I’d spend in the city; a swirl of seedy streets, strangers in the night, and singing along to chopped and screwed remixes of A$AP and Thugger. The coastline parted its lips and in- between them they swallowed my inner-pulp whole. Its hair cascaded down in rivers of hearses and taxicabs. I was the unmoved mover; affect without cause—, nor emotion. Keep going. I couldn’t think of anything else but how to get through the very next second. If I could just make it through the night, I’d be okay. If I can just make it home, I’d think to myself. The ground opened up and I fell in toward a darker reality. I was numb. The crowd got increasingly perilous. Our energy streams flew through the air as we signaled in a secular cryptography. I was finally exposed to a new type of lifestyle. The city’s grid took on entirely different dimensions; I saw limits I’d never noticed before. I looked around me as often as I could, trying to find something that reminded me of home—, of my mother’s warmth and loving nature—, there was nothing. I was in another world.

“Have you ever had a brother?,” I finally asked someone, still reeling from the realization that I’d lost one of my closest to me.

“I’ve had many brothers,” they somberly said. I didn’t know if they understood my despair, so I just nodded my head and went about my business. My place started having all the hallmarks of a life gone awry; nothing in the fridge, doors off their hinges, and a heater than never worked.

“Your spot is definitely a trap house,” another person said. I didn’t know if I should laugh or shake my head in personal disappointment—, so I probably did both. The sun’s rays would come calling me forth. Up and ready for another bout with fate. Where would I land on today’s wheel of misfortune?

Puking Guts

Back in Michigan, it was Mother’s Day when my own was to have her right lung’s upper-lobe surgically removed. By her bedside, we prayed as much as we could and though I felt the sting of walking so far away from God, I still pleaded with Him that everything would turn out well. I kissed her forehead and left to go sit in the waiting area with the rest of the people who had loved ones in surgeries that day. There I sat, listening to my headphones and at the same time, not hearing a thing. I was gone—, lost—, hardly present at all. Hour after hour passed by, thought after thought of what was going on entered my mind and created a whirlwind of fear and worry. Suddenly, I felt a deep nausea take hold—, I quickly headed to the restroom and puked my guts out from the stress I was feeling that day. The doctor finally called me into a small room where he laid out the details of the surgery.

“Everything went as planned,” he said. “We believe we’ve removed all of the lung cancer and though she may have a harder time breathing normally, she’s as stable as possible for now.” I thanked him as much as I could and continued to hope that the Hodgkin Lymphoma would be taken care of just as easily. Gabriela eventually shaved her head in anticipation of the upcoming chemo treatments.

“You’re so beautiful Mom,” I’d say to her as often as possible. I took the next train to Chicago and wondered what’d come next.

A Verse to Remember

I arrived back home and sat quietly on my bed while staring at the inside of my front door. I’d found a piece of paper with Romans 12:2 from long ago that I taped to it after I’d moved, wanting to read it every time I left to go outside. Recently though, I just let my eyes graze over it without much thought. I didn’t want to conform to the ways of the world—, but found it much easier to do so than anything else.

Back at work, the store owner could tell I was deep in my own head more often than not. He’d try and pull me back into reality every once in a while.

“So what do you write about?,” he’d ask, knowing I had a passion for it. I never knew how to answer. He probably asked me half a dozen times and for each response I just shrugged and went back to work.

Losing Neo

I was staring at my ceiling one night when I suddenly wanted to be back outside. Needing to be around people, I immediately jumped up from my chair and began getting ready to leave the studio apartment. I walked out into a comforting lifestream. Instead of watching the dust settle inside, I was back in the constant flow of why I moved to the city in the first place. Knowing exactly where I wanted to go, I walked toward Clark Street and turned right, heading south. The line was already longer than I’d ever seen it before. It was well into the next street up from the club.

“What’s going on?,” I asked someone in front of me.

“It’s Neo’s last night,” he said.

“Last night?” I didn’t understand.

“Yeah, they’re closing it down tomorrow.” I was in shock. It’d been open for over thirty-six years and in a few short months, I’d already made a handful of memories myself. Open since 1979, it was the city’s oldest nightclub. Now, it was my last chance to enjoy its unique feel before having to say goodbye forever. I stood in line, waiting to enter the alleyway and head down toward the open door on the left. Finally, I arrived at the side entrance. I paid the cover and entered into strobe-filled scenery. It was packed—, shoulder to shoulder. The vibe was slightly downhearted, everyone knew they were in their final hours to forget about tomorrow and party the night away. I made my way down to the dance floor. People of all types moved with the rhythms of the booming music, making the most of the time they had left. From the corner of my eye, I spotted long, crimped hair I thought I’d recognized. I walked up to the blond woman and sure enough, it was who I’d expected; a past co-worker.

“Hey you—,” I called out over the loud noise. She looked up from her elegant dancing.

“Hey!,” she exclaimed. We hadn’t seen each other since I switched jobs a few months back. She’d invited me over for a dinner party at her place and we’d always had fun during work swapping stories of shows we’d gone to. I never expected to see her here though. It was a pleasant surprise.

“You made it!,” I said of the club’s final few hours.

“I couldn’t miss it,” she replied. We took a few pictures and moved well into the night. I don’t remember the last song the DJ played but toward the end of it, everyone had their arms raised and clapping. Some were crying, some hugged each other. It was a bittersweet moment I got to share with hundreds of strangers. Piling back out into the alley, everyone had saddened looks on their faces. They were grieving of a time gone by—, the decades that’d passed, the memories they’d made. We all took one final look inside and made our way down toward the street out front. Splitting ways, there were honking cars pulling out of parking spots, people hugging goodbye, and groups going in different directions. Each person had their own after-party to get to. All the while, it seemed like everything was coming to an end.

Strength in Every Way

Back in Michigan, my mom was finishing up another round of radiation. I walked into the building with her, arms interlocked, as she took baby steps toward the front desk. After her appointment the secretary congratulated her and handed us a certificate and a teal wristband with the word ‘Strength’ written across it in big block letters. I smiled that my mom would have something to remind her of how far she’d gotten. Getting back in the car, she opened the glove compartment box and placed the wristband inside.

“You don’t wanna wear it?,” I asked.

“I’ve never liked jewelry around my arms,” she said, “it’s just uncomfortable.” I thought about it for a split-second before asking;

“Can I wear it then?” I knew it’d always be a reminder of how strong Gabriela truly is and would help me keep moving along throughout my own journeys.

“Of course,” she said, taking it back out and handing it to me. I slid my hand through and stared at it with pride.

Even though I was doing a decent job at hiding what was really going on with me, I still couldn’t fool everyone.

“How’s she doing?,” friends would ask of my mom. I didn’t have the energy to tell them the whole story, so I just kept it as surface-level as possible.

“She’s doing better,” I’d say—, hoping that even hearing those words would make them come true. I’d see her everywhere—, on each street, standing there, healthy and full of life. She’d smile and extend her arms out to give me another hug. Of course, the closer I’d get, the more I’d notice it being a mirage. Things wouldn’t make sense without her by my side, without knowing she was just a phone call away. I’d spend each train ride to and from home looking out the window at a world blurring by which I didn’t understand anymore. There were still so many memories to be made, so many places to travel to together, so many coffee shops to try out and things to laugh about. Every second spent trying to figure out why everything was happening the way it was, I’d grow further apart from the real world. Somewhere in the back of my mind though, I still begged that she’d be okay. I still believed that she could be healed—, once and for all.

Lakefront Philosophy

I was at the lakefront one day, back in Chicago, taking pictures of downtown from the south side angle.

“Doesn’t this all seem pointless?,” a friend asked out loud. She was verging on a philosophical talk that I wasn’t truly ready for, but I responded all the same.

“Like what?,” I asked.

“Like the whole rat race of life—, doesn’t it all seem so insignificant in the end?” I couldn’t help but think about what Gabriela would say. What her thoughts on the matter would be now that she’d lived through a communist upbringing, a life devastated by cancer, and having a son who barely represented her values. I was sure she would agree —, it was all pointless in the end. Maybe I was right so many years ago after I’d moved out of Ann Arbor. I couldn’t help but think about mortality on a personal scale, like I’d used to after my dad died. Now the thoughts swirling around my head were of my best friend—, nothing made sense and everything seemed lost, including me. The more I let the thought linger, the worse off I was becoming.

Too Much to Handle

Back at the job, I was restocking the shelves and replacing the shoes to their corresponding displays when through my peripheral, I saw someone walk into the store dressed in all brown.

“Westside?—, you work here now?,” the man asked. I already had a smile on my face before turning around and shaking his hand. The new shop was a stop on his delivery route and not only did he know the owner but they were good friends. Even in a big city, it still felt like a small world. We caught each other up on everything and I told him about my mother’s situation, hoping he could keep her in his prayers.

“Man—, I’m really sorry Dre. My pops died of cancer so I know how it can be,” he said to me in a serious voice. He saw that I had changed since we first met. I spoke differently, moved differently, I wasn’t the same person as before. “God doesn’t put more on you than you can handle,” he said. “Remember that.” I told him I’d keep him in the loop on everything but like most people during those days, I sadly lost touch with him too.

Picking Apart My End of the Line

Someone who I’d become close friends with was over one night—, I knew he was as far from a believer as possible. A near anti-theist. We were watching music videos when he nonchalantly asked me a question I’d never expected from him.

“So what do you think about the Holy Spirit?” I couldn’t believe it—, I was the last person he should’ve been asking at that specific point in time. Of course I still believed, but I’d grown so cold toward everything that I was hardly in the position to give out spiritual advice. Nevertheless—, I needed to be as honest as possible.

“Well—, I think there are certain divine truths that we can only understand through the Holy Spirit. It’s kind of like a telephone between us and God, connecting and translating those feelings for us to fully grasp.” I didn’t know where those words came from—, they just seemed to flow out through my mouth. My friend just looked at me for a little while without saying anything.

“I’ve never heard that before,” he said, probably referring to most other people’s judgmental ways of spreading their beliefs. I was more careful, trying to explain what I believed while respecting his own opinions. He eventually got up to leave and right before exiting through my front door, he stopped to read the Bible verse written there—, standing a moment or so before finally saying goodbye. I wondered what he thought about it, though I’d never really know. Besides, all I could think of was when I’d get to see my mom again—, and in a week’s time, I was on a train to do just that before coming right back just a couple days later.