Cancer.

       11 years ago when I was 4 years old, my dad walked into the room that I shared with my brother in the basement of my grandparents home. I don't really remember what exactly he said and did, but at one point I remember being in his arms and him whispering in my ear that, "Mommy is very sick." "But she's going to get better, right?" I asked not understanding that my dad was telling me that my mom had cancer. He smiled at me and said, "Of course Bansie, she just won't feel good for awhile." I was confused about why he was crying, but he said she would be fine so everything had to be okay.
       I was only 4, I can't remember anything except for a few moments within the 5 months that my mother was in Chemotherapy.
      One time I remember walking into her bedroom, and she was asleep on her bed. She didn't wake up when I touched her shoulder or whispered in her ear. I ran my fingers through her hair and a ton of it fell out. I laid my head on her stomach; all I felt in my four year old heart was fear, despair and loneliness which wrapped over my small body. I had no idea that you could hurt so much, so I cried and prayed, "Heavenly Father I love my mommy very much. Please don't take her away from me. Amen." It's strange how vividly I can hear my voice from my memory say those words.
      People have never asked me about what happened, thinking I was too young to remember anything, to really know what was going on.
      Then there was the time where I had to go to the hospital with my mom. My older brother was there too, sitting in a grey chair playing with his Pokemon cards. The nurse walked in with gloves on and took out a long needle. She took my mom's arm and moved forward to stick it into her flesh. I sat down on the floor, squeezed my eyes shut, put my head on my knees and covered my ears with my hands. I began to cry again, why wouldn't she just get better? 
      Then after 5 months, she did get better, and nobody noticed how much it had scared me.
   
      ... But it didn't really matter all that much. Until they told me that my Grandpa also had cancer. Luckily he got better. And everything was better. So when I walked into his room and he didn't even know my name, or hug me back because I was a stranger, a lot of confusion came with anger. He was sick again. I felt my heart break a little.
      Yesterday on my birthday, he sat on the couch and asked what was going on. My grandma explained  that it was my birthday. His eyes glazed over and he mumbled something before closing his eyes. When we left I hugged his body and felt all his bones creak together.
      It crushed as I looked at one of my heroes and have my dad tell me yet again that someone was sick with cancer. Except for this time, there was no reassurance. I imagine that hearing those news are similar to the feeling you'd experience before falling from a 10 story building.
      In truth, I'm just really scared.