Notes Left Behind (Large Print)

Excerpt

Day 1-November 29
 
It began early. We called it "binner." With her IV surgery scheduled for
seven A.M., the last time she could eat was one A.M. So at midnight I woke
her up to a breakfast/dinner of yogurt-except the nurse forgot to order
yogurt before the kitchen closed and we ended up with a meal of pudding and
applesauce instead. From one A.M. to dawn we talked about "Alice in
Wonderland," her new discovery of the TV remote and what she always wanted
to do. And although I couldn't always understand her words because of the
tumor, I could usually understand her drawings.
 
First came a circle with squiggly lines. This was where she wanted to go-the
only problem was that I did not know what she was telling me. After several
tries and more than enough frustration on her part, I figured out that she
was talking about the "little restaurant"-the chili parlor a mile from our
house. With this her face lit up as she told me she wanted spaghetti and
cheese. This was a remarkably simple request and we added it to the list.
The next one was a bit harder: the Eiffel Tower. To this day, I still don't
know where she came up with this one. Regardless, this was the list and what
we needed to accomplish. From there the list continued to the "street of
dresses," which I immediately recognized as a wedding dress district in our
town, but I feigned ignorance. It was the same street I had deliberately
driven down on the way home with the girls for the past five years, while
telling them to pick out their dresses. Now she was asking me to take her in
the same shops that I had always envisioned taking her to when she was
engaged. Now I questioned if she would ever make it that far. Still, it went
on the list.
 
As the night went on, we continued to talk. She wanted to talk and I wanted
to listen. Sleep was not as important as it was three days ago. I watched
her face illuminated by the lights on the heart monitor wondering if I would
remember every detail: the softness of her cheeks, the dancing glow of her
eyes, the innocence of her thoughts. But was it all a nightmare? Would I
awake tomorrow and the tumor would simply be gone? Maybe this was just a
lesson from life and by tomorrow the tumor would miraculously disappear. I
could only hope.
 
That night the doctors sent us home for rest, but after they told us that
our daughter had only 135 days to live, sleep wasn't in our plans. Still we
smiled, wiped the tears from our eyes and tried to pretend that everything
was all right. But it was Elena who had the best suggestion. Before leaving,
she wanted to celebrate Christmas. So we took time to carefully find her
precious Jesus and angel ornaments and hang them on the tree that the
grandparents had hastily put up only minutes before.
 
From the book NOTES LEFT BEHIND by Brooke Desserich and Keith Desserich.
Copyright 2009 by Brooke Desserich and Keith Desserich. Reprinted by
permission of William Morrow, an Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.