One Last Fight

by Brenda Kennedy

  It’s a personal note: I have been crying all night and I asked God why would he give you this precious little girl for three short years, and then take her back? Then I realized that maybe Jamie’s life was about her. Maybe it was about her experiencing things like her mother’s gentle touch, her dad’s soft voice when he reads to her, the security she felt when your arms were around her. Or the smell of her dad’s cologne or her mother’s perfume. Maybe Jamie’s life was about her being loved unconditionally and knowing she was loved. I think her short life was a success and a wonderful experience. Maybe it taught the ones who loved her things others can never imagine. What a blessing she was to others and what a blessed life she had.

  Robert and Leah, I didn’t know Jamie, but it saddens me that she was taken away from you so soon. I thought about it last night and this is the only thing that makes sense. Love, Dove and Gus.

  I stand up and show the note to everyone. After everyone reads it, they take turns and give Jamie their gifts. I carefully place the note in my purse. I want to take it home and put it in the keepsake box. It’ll end up getting ruined if it’s left here. I hold Gracie and think about Gus and Dove being here today. They never met Jamie, but they would have loved her.

  We watch as everyone places their gifts down on the grave. Dad and Mom brought Jamie a stuffed, cloth baby doll. Walter and Margie got her a plastic book they had bought. It was of one of Jamie’s favorite stories, Rapunzel. I hold Gracie while Robert sets his own gift down. He removes a heart necklace from the box and lays it on the base of the tombstone. It is gold color with clear stones. It says “Daddy’s Angel” and has two hearts intertwined together. Robert says a silent prayer and wipes the tombstone stone with a tissue he pulled from his jacket pocket.

  Robert holds Gracie and it’s now my turn. I place a heart-framed photo of Jamie’s family beside Robert’s gift. It is a picture of Robert and me with Gracie, Madison, and Caden. The frame is gold color with “FAMILY” written across the bottom. Jamie’s family. Gracie drops a rattle on the ground beside me. I look at it and then I look up at her. She is now chewing on her fist. I wonder if this isn’t Gracie’s contribution to her sister’s Christmas. I pick up the rattle and place it beside the other gifts.

  Later that day, we have Christmas dinner and make plans to meet up with everyone at the hospital. Jo offered to watch Gracie at the house, so I wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of her while I worry about Mom and her surgery. Mom and Dad seem close, and Dad is being very attentive towards her. I’m glad. I notice Mom stares at her new diamond ring often and it makes her smile. She moves her fingers and watches the ring. I remember doing the same thing when Robert and I got engaged. Although Mom is smiling, her eyes don’t sparkle. They’re dull and sad. I know she is worried about her surgery and her treatment. I pray that she will be around for many years. I can’t stand the thought that she won’t be.

  When everyone leaves, and Gracie is in bed for the night, I take a candle-lit bath. Robert decides to work out. I know he is doing everything he can to train for his fight with Kennedy. I also know it is a stress reliever for him. I lie in the bubble-filled bathtub and try to think calming thoughts. I play Christmas music softly on the surround sound.

  When I’m done, I don’t apply my Victoria’s Secret lotion on me. I apply Gracie’s Baby Magic brand baby lotion, instead. If Gracie’s lotion won’t calm me, nothing will. I decide to wear one of Robert’s white dress shirts to bed. I just want to be surrounded with Gracie’s smell and Robert’s clothing while I sleep. Maybe being near my family will ensure a restful sleep for me.

  Robert is freshly showered and in bed waiting for me. His hair is wet, he’s shirtless, and the sheet and comforter are covering him up only from the waist down. I look at him and wonder if he is naked under there. I suddenly remember when our morning lovemaking ended before it even began.

  He looks up at me and gives me his dimpled smile. He scoots over and lifts the covers on his side of the bed for me to climb under. Yep, he’s naked. We make love twice before falling into a restful, peaceful sleep.

  Robert

  Leah wanted to see her Mom early this morning, but Sue thought it would be best to wait until she got checked in at the hospital. I know it’s because Sue and Leah would both be very emotional. Yesterday, although Sue attempted to be happy, and sometimes succeeded, her eyes revealed something else. Worry? Sadness? Depression? All of them? I can’t be sure.

  We walk into the hospital and my mom and dad are in the waiting area. We greet them before going back to pre-op to see Sue and Tim. Sue is already prepped for surgery and Tim is sitting on the edge of her hospital bed. I know this can’t be easy for either of them.

  Tim stands when he sees us and hugs Leah. Leah hugs him and then hugs her mother tightly. I think they are both crying. Leah and I had a talk on the way over here about her being strong for Sue. A lot of good that talk did.

  Tim steps back and shakes my hand.

  “How is she?” I ask. Stupid question.

  He says in low voice, “Emotional. I don’t think it really sank in until last night.”

  When Leah and Sue stop hugging, I walk over and hug her. “How are you?” Why do I keep asking that?

  “I’ll be better in a few hours. I just want to get this over with,” she admits. Leah reaches over and holds her hand.

  “I’m sure you do. How long will the surgery take?”

  “Two or three hours, I think.”

  “Did they say how long you’ll be in the hospital?” Leah asks.

  “Three days,” Tim says as he takes a seat.

  I think Sue was going to say something else, but her voice started to crack. I think about if it were Leah here having the surgery how she would feel about having her breasts removed. I would give my right arm and leg to have Leah healthy. Breasts really aren’t that important if they’re causing health problems. I know Tim feels the same way.

  “Mom and Dad are in the waiting area. They wanted you to know they are here for you,” I finally say to change the mood in the room.

  The surgeon comes in and checks on Sue. He asks whether she has any questions and she doesn’t. Tim and Leah don’t have any either. He tells her that everything is ready and the nurse will be in, in a few minutes to take her back.

  He leaves the room and Leah stands up from the bed. She puts on a fake smile and I know she is trying to be strong. Tim walks over and stands near Sue and Leah. I stay by the door and wait and watch and worry.

  They come in to take Sue to surgery. As hard as Leah tries to be strong, she cries. It isn’t until Tim breaks down that I realize how bad this is. Leah tells her through sobs that we will be waiting for her.

  Tim holds Sue’s hand and kisses her. “I love you,” he says and a tear slides down his cheek.

  They wheel Sue past me and I also kiss her.

  “Take care of my baby girls, Robert. They need you,” she whispers.

  I choke back the lump in my throat and nod. “We’ll be here when you get out of surgery.”

  Later, while we are waiting for the doctors to update us on Sue, I call Carl and Josephine to check on Gracie. Tim and Leah haven’t moved from the waiting area. Dad and Mom walked down to the cafeteria to get some coffee for everyone. A coffee maker is in the waiting area, but I think they needed to get away for a minute.

  I pace back and forth and Leah sits there staring at the clock. Tim watches the large double doors with the word “Surgery” written on each of them. I think about breast cancer and how it is hereditary. I instantly become fearful for Leah, Madison, and for Gracie. What if this happens to Leah? What if this happens to Madison and Gracie? Does anyone else in their family have it? I suddenly put myself in Tim’s shoes. I could lose my wife and my daughters to breast cancer. I sit down on the chair beside Leah and run my hands through my hair. I know I’m not thinking rationally, but it could happen, right? What is the chance of my mother-in-law, my wife, and my daughters having breast cancer?


  I look at the clock and it’s only been less than two hours. I can’t voice my concerns about any of this. If I do, I’ll show my fears and the lack of faith that this will end well for Sue and for us. I look over at Leah as she picks at her nail polish. She is so small and fragile sitting there beside me. Her hair is getting long and is tucked behind her ears. Her Florida Gators hoodie is too big for her, and her jeans are ripped at the knees. Dressing so casually is so unlike Leah. She looks over at me and I say, “Come here.” She stands and sits on my lap. I wrap my arms around her and inhale her scent. It’s not her unique scent of buttercream and vanilla; it’s Gracie’s scent of Baby Magic baby lotion.

  Mom and Dad arrive with coffee and no one moves. No one talks. We just sit there in our own personal hell. I pray they are able to remove all of the cancer, and Sue recovers completely and quickly. Leah buries her head into my neck and cries. Tim stands, but doesn’t say anything. He walks over and stares out the window. Leah stands and walks over next to him. She is almost 12 inches shorter than her father. She wraps her small arms around him. He turns to her and returns her hug. No words are spoken between the two. Their body language says it all.

  Tim and Leah never leave the waiting area. Very few words are said and when the doctor appears in the doorway, you can feel the relief of everyone in the room. We all stand and walk towards him. The doctor explains that the tumor was deeper than they expected. He tells us because of that, he needed to do some reconstruction to reduce the scarring. Both breasts have been removed and Sue will start her chemo next week. I think I see Tim stumble and Leah and Mom cry.

  “You can see your wife in just a few minutes,” the doctor says before leaving the room.

  I run my hand up and down Leah’s back as she cries into my chest. Dad holds Mom and he also looks weary. I realize that Sue is the rock of this family and I also realize how much this family loves one another. They don’t just love, they love with their entire heart.

  Tim goes back and sees Sue first. It was actually Leah’s idea. I’m proud of my girl. She knows her mom and dad need time together. After several minutes Leah stands and says, “I can’t wait any longer. I wanna see Mom.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Go ahead and go without me.”

  “Okay, don’t wait too long.”

  “I won’t.” I watch Leah leave and I walk over to where Mom and Dad are sitting.

  “We’re going to go ahead and leave. Will you tell Sue we were here and we’ll be back tomorrow?” Mom says.

  “You’re not staying?”

  “There’s no need to,” Dad says.

  Mom adds, “She made it through surgery and hopefully she’ll sleep most of the day from the anesthesia. We don’t want to bother her. This is really a time for her close family.”

  “Okay, sure, I’ll tell her.”

  I stand and walk them to the elevator. “Oh, here, I almost forgot.” Mom digs in her purse and hands me a card. “Give this to Sue when she wakes up.”

  I take the card and hug my parents before they leave. I don’t quite understand why they would stay for the surgery but not stay to visit.

  “I’ll make sure she gets this,” I say, showing them the card, I’m holding. “Be careful driving home.”

  “We’ll go to your house and watch Gracie, so Carl and Josephine can go home.”

  “Good, Gracie will like that. We won’t be long.”

  “Take your time, Robert. We’ll be there when you and Leah come home,” Dad says.

  When I hear the elevator descend, I walk back to join Leah, Tim, and Sue. I hear crying coming from one of the rooms and I immediately know it is Leah. I think now I understand why Mom and Dad didn’t want to stay, and what they meant when they said this is a time for close family. I wonder if I’ll ever be as wise as they are.

  Normally when I hear Leah cry, I want to rush to her side. But today, I slowly walk into Sue’s recovery room. I hate that Sue has cancer, I hate that she had a double mastectomy, and I hate that she’ll need chemo and that she will have to go through all of this. I hate it for her and for Leah and Tim. I have no idea what to say to her. “I’m sorry for your loss?” Oh, God, please don’t let me say something so stupid and embarrassing. Plus it sounds like someone died.

  When I get into the room, Tim and Leah are sitting on each side of the bed. Sue is awake but looks groggy. They are all crying. I clear my throat as I walk further into the room. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

  Sue wipes her eyes and tries to smile. “Hi, Robert,” she says. Her voice sounds hoarse and raw.

  Leah stands and steps away from the bed.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask Sue as I get closer to the bed. I lean in and kiss her, being extra careful not to bump into her or touch her.

  Sue would normally reach up and hug me, but today, she keeps both of her arms guarded against her. “I’m tired, thank you for being here.”

  I stand up and look down at her. As I reach for her hand to hold, I say, “You never need to thank me. Mom and Dad gave me this to give to you. They said they’ll see you later today or tomorrow.”

  “They didn’t stay?”

  “No, they just left to get Gracie.” I bend down to kiss her on her forehead, again. “I’ll just leave it here.” I stand up and release her hand, before stepping away and placing the card on the bedside table.

  When I stand beside Leah, she wraps her arms around my waist tightly. I know this is an emotional time for her and for everyone. “Are you all right, Sweets?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head.

  The nurse comes in and checks Sue’s vital signs and her bandage. I turn to look away but Leah moves closer to the bed. I hear a gasp and then a soft cry. My heart breaks for Sue, Tim, and for Leah. I decide to leave. I think they may need some more time together.

  I walk into the gift shop, looking for something, I don’t know what. I look over the balloons, cards, stuffed animals, and even the magazines and books. I finally see a book titled Breast Cancer Husband: How to Help Your Wife (and Yourself) during Diagnosis, Treatment and Beyond written by Marc Silver. I pick it up and read over a few pages. It looks like something that could be helpful. It’s also written by a man who probably has been through this. If he hasn’t been through something like this, how would he know what would be helpful or informative?

  I decide on the book for Tim and I also get a card for Sue. Something inspirational or funny? Mom probably got funny so I decide on inspirational.

  I look at my watch and it’s almost 3:00 p.m. I sign the card in the gift shop before leaving. I go to the cafeteria and get some dinner for everyone. I know they won’t eat it, but they need to have something available. I decide on some fresh fruit and vegetables, soup, and a couple bottles of water.

  When I get to the room, the nurse is in there changing Sue’s dressing. Tim looks frightened and Leah is crying. I try to look away but it’s too late. The dressing is off, exposing bare skin and two drainage tubes. I place the food on the window sill and pretend to be busy. Sue cries and I pray. I hope she isn’t crying because her breasts have been removed. Honestly, from a male’s point of view, they are only breasts. Men who have stopped being boys do not define a woman by the size of her boobs or if she has them. They are extra, in addition. I would rather have Leah here with me healthy without breasts than to have her sick with them. I know Tim feels the same way. Maybe it’s different for women. I have no idea.

  When the nurse finally leaves, I turn around. Sue is adjusting her hospital gown. “That looked worse than I thought,” she sadly says.

  “It looked fine,” Tim says. I know he means it.

  “It didn’t look that bad, Mom,” Leah says with tears still streaming down her cheeks. She doesn’t sound or look convincing.

  I walk over and take a seat next to Leah. The card from Mom is opened and standing up on the table. There is a woman with small breasts in a bikini that says “before implants” and on the inside there is the same
woman with bigger breasts in the same bikini with several hot lifeguards surrounding her that says “after implants.” This card even makes me laugh.

  Tim stays at the hospital with Sue, and Leah and I go home. We haven’t seen Gracie all day. She was asleep when we left this morning, and I have missed her. Leah is mostly quiet on the drive home. I left the book and card on the bedside table next to the opened card from Mom and Dad.

  I visit with Mom and Dad before they leave while Leah feeds Gracie in the nursery. I know they both enjoy the one-on-one time with each other. It’s a bond that only a mother and child can experience.

  “How is Sue?” Mom asks.

  “She slept a lot today.”

  Mom says, “I thought she would.”

  “How’s Tim holding up?” Dad asks.

  “He didn’t say much. He looks frightened.”

  “He may be in shock. A lot has happened in a short amount of time,” Dad says. “He’ll snap out of it.”

  Dad looks at Mom and says, “We’ll go up tomorrow.” She nods.

  Later that night, I take a bubble bath with Leah. We don’t make love, but I hold her close. She openly expresses her fears to me.

  “When I was feeding Gracie tonight, I kept thinking about what if that was me. I wouldn’t be able to nurse Gracie anymore. I know that’s selfish, but I enjoy her feedings as much as she does.”

  “I thank God every day that it isn’t you.” I take the soapy washcloth and squeeze it over her arm.

  “Do you think Dad will look at Mom differently?” she asks.

  “I do, but not in the way you’re thinking.” I wet the washcloth again and squeeze it over her other arm. “I think when he looks at her chest and the scarring, he’ll see a fighter and a survivor.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I know I would.”

  “You don’t think he’ll be turned off?”

  “No, not in the least. He may be even turned on from her strength. Everyone loves a fighter and a survivor.”