Jonathan's Story
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Health and Wellness

Jonathan's Story

Unfinished

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Jonathan's Story
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Snowy footprints lined the entryway to the house. Jonathan kicked the snow off his boots and removed them, careful not to be too loud as his mother was taking a nap in the next room. 

Jonathan’s father appeared in the entryway, wearing a tan bathrobe and slippers. His hair was wet, which was an indication that he had just taken a bath. 

“Jonathan, we need to talk.” His voice was hoarse and throaty, as if he’d just been crying. His eyes did look puffy and swollen, come to think of it.

“What’s the matter, Dad?” Jonathan asked.

His father shifted his feet nervously. He took a deep breath and said, “Let’s go to the living room.”

Jonathan became seriously alarmed, for he had never heard his father speak this way before. His immediate thoughts were that someone close to them had died or something of that nature.

“Okay…” Jonathan said hesitantly, and the two of them walked over to the living room. Jonathan’s dad sat down heavily on the plush, salmon-colored chair, while Jonathan sat on the old, worn out couch with a missing cushion and decaying fabric.

He had many memories of this couch. He recalled the time when his grandmother had taught him how to knit here when he was nine. He had hated learning something so silly and girlish, but now looking back on it, really treasured those moments his grandma and he had spent together. It wasn’t long after that day that she had a heart attack and died. He also remembered the many family game nights in this room, playing Scrabble and Monopoly and various card games. His best friend Toby had anxiously opened his rejection letter to Harvard, and then acceptance to Cornell, right here on this couch. Jonathan had his first kiss with Phyllis Gland late into the night after her party all those years ago in that exact same spot. She still had a piece of ribbon in her hair from her fifties themed costume. The ribbon had fallen to the floor during the kiss, and he could still identify exactly where it landed. It felt like only yesterday.
Jonathan’s father took a couple of deep breaths and closed his eyes tight. Trying to gain composure, he swallowed and said, “Jonathan, your mother just got a call from the doctor. She has breast cancer.”

Jonathan stared at his father. He breathed deeply. “What?” He stammered, not knowing what else to say to this piece of unexpected information. 

“She had gone to the doctor to get a mammogram a few weeks ago and the test results just came back. She has a metastatic tumor. She needs surgery and chemo.” Jonathan’s father said this last part with tears starting to reform at his eyelids. Jonathan could tell he was struggling to keep it together in front of his son.

For some odd reason, the first thing Jonathan thought of was his mother and him on the beach in Hawaii when he was twelve. He thought about her long brown hair whipping around in the tropical wind. Hair that would soon enough be gone, and this bareness covered by a scarf or a wig or nothing at all. He couldn’t think about his mother without her hair, something so integral and defining to her character. He didn’t know how to grasp the magnitude of what he had just been told. Never before in his life had Jonathan had something like this happen to him or someone he loved. Tell me what to think, he prayed to no one in particular. He didn’t believe in God. He didn’t believe in anything anymore. Why should his mother, such a strong and powerful woman, someone who was there for Jonathan and his father and everyone around her whenever they needed her and even when they didn’t, have a life-threatening disease? Surely there wasn’t a God if that was the case. Jonathan was confirmed in this belief now. 

Meanwhile, Jonathan’s mother was in her bedroom, taking a bath. She knew Jonathan knew. It wasn’t like Simon to let her speak about her own diagnosis for herself, even to her own son. 

She gently stroked her right breast. She found the hard lump and squeezed it, while tears began to form in her eyes. Soon, she was full on sobbing. She let down her long brown hair that was up in a bun and soaked it through the water. She ran her fingers through it, imagining herself without it there. She was terrified of what was to come for her, but more than fear, she felt shame. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Like what had happened to her was her own fault. She knew this was ridiculous, of course, but she felt a great amount of responsibility for the burden she was about to put on her husband and Jonathan.https://odysseyimages.s3.amazonaws.com/rJUbKkWfM.jpeg

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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