I was sitting back, watching everyone, taking in as many of the conversations as I could. I watched them all joke and laugh, some to tears. My mind wandered as I felt the fatigue weighing heavily. I wondered if I’d miss all of them when it was my time.
It was a peculiar thing to consider, but when you’re in that situation, I suppose you have those thoughts. We don’t really think about it until we’re faced with it. I wondered if I would feel the loss like they would. Or would they still feel close to me? I wondered how that worked.
Everyone had their own theory — whether it was taught through church or lifestyle — but I’d never really had an opinion or belief beyond we go to heaven when we die. Isn’t that what most people thought? We didn’t ponder, much less discuss, what we felt when we were actually there. I mean, why would we? Nobody really knew, because none of us had been to heaven yet, right?
Those were the thoughts swarming my mind the past few days. Not in a depressed way, but out of genuine curiosity. I was a planner, liked to be prepared and had lists for everything I did — but how does one make a list and prepare for…well, the afterlife? I wasn’t religious other than having a belief and living the best life I could. I didn’t go to church on Sundays, never read the bible cover to cover, I didn’t have the answers.
I knew scripture said one thing, depending on who you talked to, but how did anyone really know it was the truth? It didn’t change my beliefs, I still believed in a God and a heaven, but it left me wondering. Maybe that was faith — trusting something you couldn’t see or feel — something that wasn’t tangible.
The curiosity grew, and I wondered what time was like…after. Was it rapid? Like to the point I wouldn’t know they weren’t right there with me? Before I knew it, they’d be there — wherever there is — having lived their full lives? I imagined that would be like a long weekend away, then poof, there they were.
Surely, I wasn’t the only person who’d wondered such things. It was right up there with the midlife crisis where you tried to decipher the meaning of life. Maybe this was my crisis. Because I really wanted to know, but there really wasn’t any way to know.
I couldn’t imagine the beyond was painful from missing loved ones, unless everything we were told, and some believed, was a giant fabrication of the truth. A lie. No, that couldn’t have been the case. People wouldn’t strive to be good in an effort to get to this place if it weren’t promised…right? Who wanted to spend eternity in this grand place if it was painful? If that were the case, there’d be a lot more assholes in the world. Or maybe that was the point: lie to keep the asshole population to a minimum.
Maybe holding them in my heart would be enough to feel surrounded by them — like they were there with me and that was the work around. It was a bit of a spoof, but if I didn’t know it was a lie, would I really care? Perhaps that was why we all strived to be good people so we got to this whimsical golden palace in the sky.
That was the magic. That was eternal healing and being whole again. You couldn’t be whole without all the pieces of your heart. Somehow, they’d all be with me, when it was my time. They were what would make me whole, and that gave me peace as I looked around the room.
Unless, that wasn’t it at all. What if being whole and happy after meant forgetting? Your heart couldn’t ache for what it didn’t know. Sadness fell over me at that idea—the idea of not remembering those I loved the most and that made my heart ache…literally.
That felt more like hell, and for all I knew, that was where I was heading. Maybe TP’ing the gym teachers yard every other weekend in high school was a sentence to the underworld. Or that time Reagan pulled a package of Disney big girl panties off a rack at the department store and tossed them in the stroller without me noticing. I didn’t discover them until she was loaded up in the car and I was putting the stroller in the back. I had been new to the whole parenting thing and hadn’t known what the protocol was on your toddler stealing from a store you couldn’t be sure of. I hadn’t known what to do, and when I saw the mall security truck with his light on in the distance, I threw everything in the back and ran like a fugitive. In hindsight, I probably should have gone back to each of the stores we had been in until I found the one with Reagan’s mark — they wouldn’t throw a toddler in the slammer for shoplifting…at least I didn’t think they would. But maybe I’d go to hell?
There wasn’t a rule book on that, or most things in life. Some things we did well, and some things we failed miserably. We got a little grace for the things we failed, at least the first time, I would have thought. I chuckled at my brief life of crime with my toddler. It seemed like a lifetime ago, though it had only been a short time before the cancer had returned. Time flew, even when you weren’t having fun.
That ache in my chest was still present despite moving past my morbid heaven versus hell fantasy. I thought the pain was figurative, emotional, as I got lost in thought, but while I scanned the room, completely present, I realized it was just as firmly rooted in the now as my thoughts.
Something was wrong. I felt overwhelmed with fatigue, and everything felt a little numb, other than that pain. The room tilted slightly right, then left. Voices sounded muffled and distant. I looked at Felicity. Our eyes locked.
“Liam,” she shouted, knocking her chair over as she got up and ran to me.
I heard him too. “Cass? Cassidy, honey?”
Turning to my left, I saw him reach for me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just tired.”
But I wasn’t.
“I think I need to get her home,” Liam said. “It’s been a long day. They were up on the roof deck gardening today.”
I felt his arms loop around me as I tried to stand, but I fell to the floor.
“Call 911!” someone yelled.
“I’ll get Reagan out of here.” I think that was Felicity. “Let’s go home, baby. We have ice cream.”
She was so good to my girl.
I remember looking at the ceiling, finding each breath difficult. I was so tired — so tired, it hurt, and breathing was too hard. Then, everything went dark. That was new.
9
The beginning of the end…
I woke up to a familiar squeeze around my arm, the sound of beeping machines, and sterile smelling sheets. I was in the hospital. Everything was a blur. I vaguely remembered a pinch in my chest and opening my eyes to see Liam running with me in his arms before he climbed into the back of an ambulance. I’d question if that last part really happened, but I knew my husband.
I also remembered the look on his tear-stained face. A sharp stab of emotion caught in my throat as that image played back in my head. It was devastating. I didn’t remember anything else. I had no idea how long I’d been in that room, or what hospital I was in. Wherever I was, I hadn’t been here before. I didn’t recognize a thing.
To my left was a large window along with a wall full of cabinets and drawers with all of the typical medical contraptions protruding from the wall at my head — every hospital room had them, but I’d never seen any of those things used. Maybe that was a good thing. To my right, there was a floor-to-ceiling glass wall with a sliding door. It was dimly lit in my room, but I could see clearly beyond the glass wall.
A waiting room full of O’Reillys sat right outside. In true family fashion, the men were pacing aimlessly, stopping to look at their watches with every lap they made, while the women were seated together on the couches, comforting one another. They were worried. About me. That was pretty simple to conclude since I was in here while they were all out there. I wished I’d known what had happened — what I’d done to worry them.
I could see the dark night sky as I gazed past the foot of my bed. How long had I been in here? It hadn’t been dark at dinner.
Liam came into view, Dr. Mendoza at his side. My poor disheveled husband looked so distraught, and it was because of me. The guilt made me feel ill. They didn’t come in my room, so they must not have known I was awake. They also
didn’t know my door was partly open and I could hear every word they said.
“It metastasized,” Dr. Mendoza said, “and spread rapidly this time, despite our aggressive efforts. The scar tissue left from radiation is causing inflammation, allowing the cancer to spread quicker. The stronger the treatment, the sicker she gets, and the faster this spreads. She’s too weak to fight it like last time.”
“Okay. So, we switch her treatment to something else. Something less aggressive, something that doesn’t make her as sick and weak, right?”
“Unfortunately, there isn’t anything like that, Liam.”
“What about those trials I read about for cases like this? I emailed them to you…” Liam was desperate, and it crushed me. “Maybe we…”
Dr. Mendoza put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “I’m recommending we stop all treatment.”
“Wait. Why? Maybe that hippy shit, cannabis or whatever…we haven’t tried all that,” Liam pled.
Dr. Mendoza shook his head.
“Then what do we do?”
Mendoza paused. “We keep her comfortable. We control her pain, and nausea and initiate hospice, my friend.”
“Hospice? That means…”
Dr. Mendoza looked down, his sigh so heavy and full of emotion, I could hear it in my room. This was difficult for him too. We were friends, like family. It was personal for him.
Liam’s voice cracked, and I felt it to my core. “How long? How long do we have her?”
“If we continue treatment, a month, maybe two because she’s stubborn.” Mendoza snorted at his comment. He knew me well. “If we stop the treatment, we may be able to slow the cancer down a bit and remove the side effects actually harming her more than the disease at this point. Then, it’s up to her. It’s about quality of life now, Liam.”
“How long, Mendoza?”
“There’s no way to know for sure. No less than the one to two months we expect should we stay the course.”
“Jesus, Rick, how long?”
“Maybe double, if we’re lucky?”
“Oh, wow.” Liam tossed his hands in the air. “So, instead of one to two months, we may get a solid two — four, if we’re lucky.”
Liam paced, his hands on his hips, taking that same glance at his watch the others had been doing. He dragged his hands over his face in defeat. I felt his pain, and it was utter torture.
He stopped in front of Dr. Mendoza again, his voice pleading. “Either way, I have to say goodbye to my wife in…days, really. I-I’m not ready for that. None of us are ready for that. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Until death do us part had like eighty years on it. Reagan…” Liam’s head dropped as he collected himself, “she’s too young. She needs to remember. How will she remember? She needs her mom! I don’t know anything about girls or how to raise one.”
“You’re raising one now. And she’s incredible,” Dr. Mendoza said gently, trying to encourage Liam in an impossible situation.
“No, I’m not.” Liam’s voice rose. He had the attention of the whole floor.
His mother and sister were comforting each other in tears. His brothers turned away to hide their emotion, unable to watch him suffer. His father dropped to the couch behind him, burying his face. These bigger-than-life, strong men who defined brave were crumbling, and I had to watch that. I had to watch my husband crumble. It was like a train wreck — you wanted to turn away and spare yourself the torturous details, but couldn’t.
“I’m not raising Reagan alone. I’m following Cassidy’s lead. She’s an amazing mother and I could never measure up to that. She’s amazing at everything. There isn’t a rule book or manual for this shit. I can’t just pick up where Cassidy leaves off. I can’t live the rest of my life without her, so excuse me, Doc, when I say I won’t accept this. There has to be…”
Liam’s voice cracked, robbing him of his words. Luke, his twin, seemingly felt his pain and came to his side, his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he just stared back. When Liam’s head dropped in his moment of emotional despair, Luke pulled him into an embrace, letting him fall apart while he held his brother. Luke wasn’t one for words, much less tears, but he didn’t have to say a thing. He was what Liam needed in that moment — to be strong and hold him up when he wanted to fall. His soul was battered, his heart crushed.
Dr. Mendoza put one hand on each brother’s shoulder and shook his head. There was nothing else he could say or do. I could see the guilt he carried, as if he’d failed his dear friends. He hadn’t. This wasn’t on him; it was on me. It was my guilt to carry as the source of everyone’s pain, and despite knowing it was out of my control, I couldn’t help but feel utterly responsible.
Colleen and Carrigan stepped away with Dr. Mendoza. Colleen pulled a notebook and pen from her purse and began to take notes as Carrigan, a medical professional herself, did the talking.
Nobody knew I was awake. They didn’t know I’d just witnessed the gritty life sentence. I was okay with that because I couldn’t face any of them at that moment. I turned my head away and stared at the city lights through the window, trying to drown out the guttural sounds of my husband’s heart breaking.
This was it. This was the end. I thought I’d dealt with the fear and anger. I thought I’d come to terms with it all — and I had. What I hadn’t considered was Liam hadn’t. Sure, I knew he struggled with it, we all did, but he really hadn’t dealt with the finality of it all. He’d admitted that in his plea.
He was right, we were supposed to do this life thing together. Finish what we started. Raise our daughter together, but I was moving on, and he was left to pick up all the pieces alone. I was leaving him — God knew I didn’t want to — but I had no choice, and that gutted me. The guilt was eating at me like a cancer of its own.
Sure, Liam would have all the help he needed, but it would never be the same. He was still going to be alone. That was the night my husband died a little bit too. There was a piece of him that would be gone forever. An art that ceased to exist in that moment. He was already grieving — maybe not for me yet, but for everything that would never be. For a lifetime that was never promised, but thoroughly anticipated. For the family we wouldn’t finish, the goals we’d never achieve, and for the “’til death do us” part that was supposed to come eighty years later, after a lifetime of treasured days.
He was losing everything and nothing: everything he had, everything yet to come, but nothing since he hadn’t had them to begin with. Such a contradiction, but still our truth. He was losing half his life because he was losing his wife — he was losing me.
Liam’s goals, plans, and lifetime of days were being rewritten, and he didn’t hold the pen. He was at the mercy of an unfair hand life had dealt, and he hadn’t prepared for it. How could he when he’d clung to hope, joy, and life this entire time. His reality was his burden. I was responsible for all of that, and it felt like a slow, scalding knife to the heart.
He was right. What would he do with Reagan? How would he raise her alone? He was an incredible father, surrounded by a village, but it would be a lonely village because he was Liam. He had a plan. He had a picture of a life he would bury with me. He was too loyal — loyal to me — and wouldn’t concede easily because that’s who he was.
Liam needed me like I needed him. Reagan needed me. The other half to their whole. I won’t be that anymore, I can’t. Liam wouldn’t do this alone and Reagan wouldn’t grow up to be who she was meant to be without her mother. They needed me.
So, I’d just have to be there with them, through it all. I decided in that moment that I wasn’t leaving them, not completely. I’d find a way to be there for them through thick and thin, maybe not in person, but they’d know I was there with them through every moment. I’d leave a rule book. Liam wants a manual, I’d leave him one. I’d be right there with him through everything, Reagan too. Hell, the whole family.
Guilt had been my biggest downfall, and maybe this would relieve some of that, so my final days are peaceful and not rid
dled in dread and fear over what happens next for all of us. They didn’t have to live without me. Well, maybe in the literal sense, they would, but this was a compromise, the best of a bad situation.
I just needed time — something that wasn’t on my side. Doc was right, I was a fighter. I’d beat the odds. I’d beaten them before, and I’d beat them again…just different this time. In the end, I may not have won what I wanted, but I’d fight my damnedest until my final task was done, and it was okay to leave.
10
And then the letters…
Most of my days were spent on the rooftop. The guys had built a covered area for me so the weather didn’t hold me hostage indoors. They’d even installed heaters because I would get cold even when it was warm. I needed that space like I needed air. It felt like I was still living in my own world of butterfly and fairy gardens with my little girl.
I had stopped treatment, and oddly, I began to feel better. My energy wasn’t where I’d hoped, but each day, I felt a little stronger — not much, but enough to notice. A better way to describe it — I felt less shitty. I believed Dr. Mendoza — it was the treatment making me sicker, not the cancer. I was no fool, though. I knew the cancer was still there, in the background, slowly and silently taking me down, but at least we weren’t feeding it any longer. I felt the relief, albeit slight.
Felicity rarely left my side. She was even there when Liam was with me. Hell, they all were. It was beautiful, and it was ugly. I loved being surrounded by my loved ones, and it was good for each of them to be around each other, but I’d catch those sorrow-filled stares, and they hurt my heart to see. I used them as motivation, though, to finish my project so those tearful eyes were from warmth and joy, not sadness.
Brother's Keeper V: Wylie (the complete series BOX SET): NEW RELEASE + Series Box SET included! Page 61