My 17-year-old son shaved his head for his sick girlfriend – The next day, his mother told me, "You have to come to the hospital to see what your son has done."
"Come with me."
"A remark? Diane, my son shaved his head for your daughter. He did it out of love. »
My friend stopped so abruptly that I almost ran into her. Her eyes were red, but her jaw clenched.
"It's not just the fact that he shaved his head, Rachel. That's what he did next. »
"Aaron has hardly slept in months. He brings her soup. He sits in the waiting rooms and does his homework on his lap. »
"Lily is a discreet girl," she retorted in a dry tone, in a low voice so that no one could hear her. "Now, the whole oncology department is talking about it. Everyone has their opinion. Everyone has a story to tell about my daughter. »
"I almost hit him."
I felt my own anger rising, a burning and unusual feeling between us.
"You called me as if something terrible had happened. I hit the road thinking it was... I don't even want to say what I thought. »
"Maybe you should have taught Aaron to think before you act."
I took a step back, stunned.
"Don't do that, Diane. Don't blame him. He's a kid trying to love your daughter while she's going through the worst ordeal of her life. »
She looked away, blinking quickly.
"I felt my own anger rising."
A cart rattled by. A doctor's pager beeped somewhere down the hall.
"You don't understand," my best friend told me, in a calmer voice this time. "It's easier if you see it with your own eyes. I can't explain that to you from here. I tried on the phone, and I looked crazy. »
"So help me understand. Because I've known you for 20 years, and now, I don't recognize you anymore. »
Diane's shoulders slumped, just a little.
"It's been weeks, Rachel. I've been watching him come in here for weeks and make her laugh, eat and sit up. And I remain planted at the foot of his bed, unable to make him drink a little water. »
"You don't understand."
I stared at her.
« Diane… »
"Aaron comes in with treats, and my daughter lights up. I come in with her favorite blanket from when she was six years old, and she just turns around. »
"It's not his fault," I said in defense of my son.
"I know that," my friend whispered. "I know that. But knowing this doesn't stop me from being in pain. »
She quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand, as if she resented her own tears for starting to flow.
"And today, today, he did something, and I couldn't even... I couldn't find my words on the phone. »
"She just turns around."
Diane started walking again, faster this time, her shoes creaking on the waxed floor. I followed his pace.
"I was jealous of a 17-year-old boy," she says, almost to herself. "I was jealous of him because he is capable of doing something that I can't do. Do you know how it feels? To blame the person who helps your child get out of it? »
I didn't know what to say. I reached for her elbow, and she let me hold it for a second before pulling away.
For full cooking steps, turn to the next page or click the Open button (>) and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
