Before I Go

by Colleen Oakley

  “Promise you’ll check in on him,” I say to Kayleigh.

  “If you mean go over there and do his laundry, it’s not happening,” she says.

  “No,” I say. “Just spend time with him. Make him get out of the house. I just—” I bite my lip and look up until my eyes feel dry again. Then I look back at Kayleigh. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

  She squeezes my hand.

  “He won’t be.”

  I nod, satisfied that Jack is going to be all right on that inevitable day that my tumors decide to rebel again. To live up to their full potential.

  I turn my face toward the sun, letting it warm my face, and allow myself to take comfort in the one other small fact I know to be true: today is not that day.

  may

  one year later

  jack

  DAISY’S GONE. IT’S the first thing I notice when I wake up in the dark and roll toward her side of the bed. It’s empty. Is she in the kitchen? I strain to listen for the telltale sound of the fridge door opening, or the pad of her slippered feet in the hall, but all I hear is Benny’s light wheezing snores drifting up from the foot of the bed. I stop just short of calling out her name when it hits me.

  Daisy’s gone.

  I lay in bed, wondering when I’ll stop waking up like this. I used to be a sound sleeper when Daisy was here. But I don’t think I’ve slept a full night since her funeral.

  It’s been five months since I sat wedged between a misty-eyed Kayleigh—I think it was the first time I’ve ever seen her cry—and Daisy’s sobbing mom, listening to a preacher who didn’t even know Daisy talk about what a kind person she was. I wasn’t sure what made me madder, him calling her kind when he didn’t even know her, or him saying was.

  And then they played that stupid Sarah McLachlan song, and I thought I was going to explode until Kayleigh leaned over and said, “Wherever she is, Daisy is pissed.” And it lifted my anger and grief and sadness just for a moment, because she was right. Daisy hated Sarah McLachlan.

  Now it’s become a catchphrase whenever we talk about her. Wherever she is. And I like it because it makes me feel like she’s just at the farmer’s market or yoga and she’s forgotten to leave me a note saying which one.

  For six days after the funeral, I didn’t leave the house. I didn’t even walk Benny. Not that he seemed to mind. He spent most of his time curled on Daisy’s pillow, his eyes big and sad and accusing, as if I had something to do with her absence. I lied to my mom when she called and asked if I was getting out. I definitely didn’t tell her that I was turning on the blender because it filled our empty house with the sound of Daisy in the morning. It had the added bonus of drowning out my childish weeping.

  And then one rainy afternoon when I was sitting at my desk, staring at the photo of Daisy from our final vacation together—standing in front of that strange, rusty bicycle stuck in the middle of a massive tree that she insisted we go see, even though it was an hour outside of Seattle and we had to take a ferry to get there—Kayleigh appeared. She didn’t even knock.

  And seeing her reminded me of the first of the two things Daisy made me promise her before she died—that I stay in touch with Kayleigh.

  When I’m gone, she won’t have anyone, she said to me. I just don’t want her to be alone.

  So I let her stay. We watched an episode of Game of Thrones in silence. I had never seen the show before, but sitting on the couch staring at the TV with someone else was infinitely better than sitting on the couch staring at the TV by myself. And for a moment, I was even able to pretend it was Daisy sitting beside me, which loosened the viselike grip on my chest that had been ever-present since the night she died.

  Kayleigh came back the next weekend. And the weekend after that, she informed me that Daisy’s mom was coming, too, and that we would all have dinner together.

  “I don’t cook,” I told her.

  “Neither do I,” said Kayleigh.

  We ordered pizza.

  I was glad we ordered two, because Daisy’s mom showed up with some burly guy in a leather biker hat. I vaguely remembered him from the funeral, holding Daisy’s mom up like a trellis holds a vine. He seemed nice enough, except I noticed a strange tattoo on his neck of a spindly-legged bird, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  At first it was awkward, the four of us sitting together at Daisy’s and my kitchen table. It seemed for the first hour or so that Daisy had just run to the bathroom and she would be back any second to relieve the tension. Daisy was always so good in social situations. I loved watching her when she didn’t notice me watching her. And I loved watching her even more when she did—she seemed to shine brighter, tell a story with more gusto, smile wider, as if it was solely for my benefit.

  After we’d each had a few glasses of wine, conversation flowed more freely and we took turns telling stories about Daisy. Her mom cried at all of them. Even the happy ones.

  “How’d you two meet?” Bird Tattoo asked me, and it stopped me cold, because it’s the one thing I wish I had told Daisy before she died. I had planned to, but I was waiting for the right moment—one of those movie scenes where the girl is holding on to life and the guy is telling her how much she means to him. That’s when I was going to tell her this story. But Daisy died in her sleep and our final conversation was about whether she wanted to sip any more orange juice through a straw.

  So I told the story to them—how we met at the bus stop when I saved her from a bee, and how she didn’t know that bumblebees could sting you and how I told her it was a common misconception. And how, when she laughed, it challenged my belief that I was born to be a veterinarian and made me suspect I had been born with the sole purpose of finding ways to make her laugh again.

  But what Daisy and my captive—and somewhat drunk—audience didn’t know was that I had actually seen her at that bus stop six weeks before meeting her and I went to it every day, even though my classes were clear on the other side of campus, hoping to see her again. And then I did. And then I had no idea what to say to her. And then the bee buzzed her head. And I have never been so grateful to see a potentially dangerous insect.

  After that dinner, it became easier for Kayleigh and me to talk on her weekly visits and I even began to understand why Daisy liked her so much, although the one thing she used to complain about was true—Kayleigh has terrible taste in men.

  She began confiding in me the things I suspect she used to tell Daisy, although thankfully with much less clandestine detail, and I would listen and give her terrible advice, and then I started telling her the things I used to tell Daisy.

  Like how I’m afraid that I laugh at inappropriate times constantly these days. It’s as if Daisy’s death threw my nervous system out of whack and I don’t know how to respond to normal social situations. Not that I’ve ever been good in normal social situations.

  It’s something I would have told Daisy late at night right before I turned off the light to go to sleep. As an aside, so she didn’t think I was really worried about it. Or that I thought it was a big deal.

  But Daisy’s not here to tell. So I told Kayleigh last week when she stopped by the house with a bag of enchiritos from Taco Bell.

  “Your wife died,” she responded. “You’re allowed to laugh whenever you fucking feel like it.”

  It’s not what Daisy would have said. But it did, somehow, make me feel better.

  Now, laying in the dark, my heart is heavy once again—I’ve realized that’s what grieving is, a constant cycle of feeling better and feeling worse, and I’m hopeful that one day I’ll feel better more often than I feel worse—so I think of the second promise I made to Daisy before she died.

  “Please, for the love of God,” she said while we were sharing a wedge of Manchego cheese underneath our lone tree—a dogwood, not an olive tree as Daisy once hoped—in the backyard, “pick up the socks beside the bed and put them in the hamper.”

  “OK,” I said.

  “Every morning,” she said, fi
xing me with her Daisy stare.

  “Every morning,” I said.

  But I lied. On the floor beside me right now is a pile of at least ten pairs of dingy white athletic socks. I leave them there, not because I forget to pick them up, or because I’m too lazy, but because now it’s our inside joke. My final connection to Daisy that I can’t sever.

  And wherever she is, I hope she’s laughing.

  acknowledgments

  Heartfelt gratitude to the following people, without whom this book would not have made it to completion in its current form:

  My agent extraordinaire, Emma Sweeney, who changed my life forever with one phone call. And Noah Ballard for his patience holding my hand through this new-to-me experience.

  Karen Kosztolnyik, my amazing and possibly clairvoyant editor, and all of the supportive staff at Gallery Books/Simon & Schuster, especially my hard-working publicist Stephanie DeLuca, the incomparable Jennifer Bergstrom, the dynamic Wendy Sheanin and the best assistant in publishing, Paige Cohen. Thank you all for loving and believing in this book.

  Rich Barber, my publishing mentor and friend.

  Dr. Chad Levitt, for graciously spending numerous hours explaining complicated medical procedures, tests, and diagnoses in words that I could understand, and answering my hundreds of questions and e-mails with unwavering enthusiasm. Any mistakes or inaccuracies are mine.

  Lisa Shore, for introducing me to Chad and for your writerly friendship and support over the years. Thank you.

  Dr. Leo Sage, for sharing his experiences as a dual DVM and PhD student at the University of Georgia. Again, any inaccuracies in this experience are mine. Go Dawgs!

  My sister, Megan Oakley. In On Writing, Stephen King says that each novelist has a single ideal reader and keeps that person in mind in every sentence they write. You are who I write for. Thank you for always being willing to read—even at three in the morning, when you’d rather be sleeping.

  My mom, Kathy, for your brilliant edits, and, along with dad, your unconditional love. Thank you both for everything.

  My grandmother, Marion, for reading the first draft and then immediately reading it again. You and Grandpa have always been my biggest cheerleaders and I wish he was here to see this.

  My grandparents, Penny and Jack, for their relentless love and support.

  My brother, Jason, for his unique method of encouragement (“Aren’t you done with that novel yet?”), my brother-in-law, Matt, for his unorthodox advice (“Add a high-speed car chase”), and the rest of my large, supportive family (Wymans, Oakleys, Tulls, etc.—you know who you are). As Dad would say: You guys put the “fun” in dysfunctional.

  My trusted circle of friends/sounding board, who all read various drafts and gave me priceless insight, criticism, and encouragement: Brooke Hight, Kelly Marages, Kirsten Palladino, Jaime McMurtrie, Caley Bowman, Laurie Rowland, and Shannon Jones. Thank you.

  Seasoned authors who kindly shared wisdom, encouragement, and support along the way: Allison Winn Scotch, Catherine McKenzie, and Nicole Blades. Thank you.

  Henry and Sorella, for reminding me of the precious beauty in the world outside the fictional ones I create. You are my reason for everything.

  Finally, my husband, Fred. There aren’t enough words, so I’ll leave it at two: Only you.

  Gallery Readers Group Guide

  Before I Go

  Colleen Oakley

  Introduction

  As a twenty-one-year-old college student, Daisy Richmond’s answer to the question “If you knew you were going to die in one month, what would you do?” was full of adventure and travel to exotic lands. As a twenty-seven-year-old woman who is faced with a recurrence of breast cancer, her answer is very different. Before I Go is the poignant story of Daisy’s journey to navigate the unexpected twists and turns of life, and the painful process of letting go of everything but love.

  Topics and Questions for Discussion

  1. At the beginning of the story, Daisy describes herself as stubborn, independent, organized, and definitely not indecisive. What words would you use to describe her at the beginning of the story?

  2. After receiving the news from Dr. Saunders about the probable recurrence of her cancer, Daisy waits twenty-four hours before telling Jack. Why do you think she waited? What do you learn about Daisy and Jack’s relationship from the way they navigate the conversation when she tells him the news?

  3. Daisy describes her observation about people from her work at a credit card call center by saying, “. . . most people just want to talk. To be heard. Even if it is by a stranger. Or maybe, especially if it’s a stranger.” Do you think she wants this for herself? Is this observation true for you? Why or why not?

  4. Daisy says: “. . . there’s only one thing that’s worse than actually having cancer, and that’s having to tell people you have cancer.” What do you think makes talking about cancer (or any other serious illness) so awkward for most people? How would you want people to respond if you were in Daisy’s situation?

  5. How is Daisy’s response to the question “If you knew you were going to die in one month, what would you do?” different at age twenty-seven than it was at age twenty-one? How did she use the first month following the news about her cancer’s recurrence? What did you feel toward her as you read the story of how she was spending her days? How would you answer the question?

  6. How would you describe Jack’s response to Daisy as she pushes him away? Do you think he represents a typical partner’s response? Why or why not? How would you respond to someone you knew had a serious illness and seemed to be pushing you away?

  7. What do you think Daisy is trying to avoid by focusing on planning Jack’s future before she dies?

  8. Describe Daisy’s friendship with Kayleigh. In what ways are they similar? How are they opposite? Do you relate to the kind of friendship they share? Describe.

  9. What do you think were some of the factors that precipitated Daisy’s panic attacks? Have you ever experienced a panic attack or known someone who has?

  10. Describe the bargain Jack and Daisy made about each others’ schooling when they learned about the extent of her cancer recurrence. Why do you think Daisy was so intent on Jack continuing school in the midst of her cancer treatments? Would you have made the same decision? Why or why not?

  11. What role does Pamela play in the story? How does she serve a similar function for both Daisy and Jack?

  12. Based on what you learn about Daisy’s life as a young girl, what are some of the ways she has learned to cope with pain and disappointment in her life? How do those strategies serve or hinder her when she’s diagnosed with Lots of Cancer?

  13. Daisy quotes a therapist she saw once who said, “anger is grief wearing a disguise.” Do you agree? Why or why not? Do you think Daisy would agree at the end of the story?

  14. How do you feel about the way the story ended?

  Enhance Your Book Club

  1. Invite someone you know who is a cancer survivor to share their story at your next book club. Spend time discussing the question, “If you had a month to live, what would you do?”

  2. Make a bucket list. Spend time thinking about the things you want to experience before you die and write them down. Make plans to start crossing things off your list, one at a time. Discuss your lists at your next book club.

  3. Think of someone in your life who is dealing with a chronic or terminal illness. Make a list of a few ways you could encourage and demonstrate care for them during this time. Make a plan to do at least one of the things on your list for them. Discuss what this was like at your next book club.

  4. Notice the things that make you angry in the course of a week and write them down. Spend some time reflecting on what griefs your anger may be disguising. Share reflections at your next book club.

  A Conversation with Colleen Oakley

  What was your inspiration for writing Before I Go? Have you ever walked through a terminal illness with someone?

  About si
x years ago, I was assigned an article where I had to interview a woman who was dying of metastasized breast cancer. It was a powerful interview for many reasons, but what struck me the hardest was the fact that she was around my age—late twenties at the time—so I couldn’t help but put myself in her shoes. I was a newlywed and it surprised me that my first thought wasn’t What would Ido if I was dying, but What would my husband do? Fred’s the kind of guy who thinks cooking a meal means opening a box of Rice-A-Roni and a can of tuna. Would he eat boxed meals for the rest of his life? Would he date again? Would his new girlfriend or wife be like me? The idea evolved from there. I think most couples have had the conversation “Would you remarry if I died?” And I thought it would be interesting to take that one step further— what if you could hand pick who your husband married?

  What did you enjoy most about writing this story?

  I had so much fun creating Jack and Daisy’s relationship—particularly the beginning of their love story. Who doesn’t love those first few months of falling in love with somebody? Of course, that just made it so much harder for me to write the ending, because I was invested in them as a couple, and I hated tearing them apart.

  Have you always dreamed of writing a novel? When did you first know you were a writer?

  I’ve been writing stories since I first learned to hold a pencil. I think my mom still has some of my books that I wrote in elementary school (I bound them and everything!) in a box in the attic. So yes, I’ve always dreamed of writing a novel, but like most writers, I have a hard drive full of unfinished manuscripts, so I wasn’t always sure I would actually realize my dream.

  What was the most challenging part of writing this story?

  There were so many challenges, but I think the hardest thing was to strike the right tone. The subject material is obviously fraught with emotion, but I didn’t ever want it to be too maudlin or depressing. I hope that I achieved a good balance.