Darian's Not So Secret Diary

I remember when mom had cancer, she signed me and my brother up for this kids support group. "Hi, I'm Darian, my mom has breast cancer." I think that's all I said the entire meeting. By the end of the first meeting we knew it wasn't for us. The kids there were much younger than us, and I don't think either one of us were the type at that time to unload all of our feelings onto complete strangers. Shoot, I think even now we're not that type. We're the smile and nod "Oh I'm doing just fine, thanks, how are you" type of people. Bottle it all up, lay awake at night thinking about it type of people. Then one day your favorite pen runs out of ink and next thing you know, you're sobbing in the office supplies department at Walmart because it was such a good pen, none of these will be the same as my pen. Yeah, that's us. Looking back, I wish I had paid more attention to what the other kids were saying. I wish I had cared about what th

Mom was 36 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember on her short treatment days she let me come with her, because by that point I did everything with her. Doctors appointments, tests, treatments. Where she went, I went. Whether she wanted me to or not. The oncologist administered the treatments at his office, in this dingy little room in the basement that looked like death row for cancer patients. Ugly pleather recliners lined the walls of the small room, you could hardly breathe through the dense desperation in the air. As if everyone was just waiting. Waiting to die. At that age, I thought that would never happen to me. As I grew older, I feared that would be me. When I turned 36 I was horrified it would be me; thinking that would be the start of my impending doom. My death sentence. The year I would be diagnosed with breast cancer. But that birthday came and went without a diagnosis, and I almost felt victorious, like I had made it. I had beat this thing that had at