Last year, my step dad was diagnosed with cancer(cancer free now!) But I was having such a hard time coping with it, that my friend suggested I write about it. So I did!
All it takes is a phone call.
One simple phone call can either make or destroy you. It can completely ruin how you see the world. Every rose is suddenly withering right before your eyes and the sky is looking a little darker than it did before. It could ruin how the world saw you. Your shoulders slouched and head hung low, weighed down by sorrow with red and puffy eyes. You were slowly breaking away with every gust of wind and there wasn't a single person that didn't notice. But they remained far away. Worried they may trigger you and you would absolutely shatter.
That was me, now.
With eyes locked on the dead trees, consumed by fall, my mind imagined them simply shriveling and curling into themselves. In the distance, the open air began to stretch outward, seeming never ending as fog rolled in.
I allowed a shaking fist to lower to the counter, my knuckles cracking as I released the phone from my grip.
"Keep it together," my mind repeated over and over. Taking deep, heavy breaths that were meant to be soft and relaxing. But the longer I stayed frozen in place, my body completely numbed by shock, the more I thought about the distance I had put between myself and my family. I never intended to get this far from them. I was just living my very adventurous and dangerous life. I was so wrapped up in this business that my only contact with my family was phone calls and letters. I hadn't experienced homesickness since I was just a kid at my first sleepover. But now, at twenty-seven years old, it was hitting me like a tidal wave. My lungs filling with water and suffocating me.
I needed to be home.
Now more than ever.
It started with a cough. It was hardly touched on during the conversation, no one being too concerned about it. Who would be worried about something that could have been a cold?
Then there was blood. It stained my mothers porcelain sink in splatters and when he was examined, a lump was found which was then tested. The wait for the result was agonizing, but not as horrid as the actual news of cancer residing in my father.
A soldier for America in his youth, a mechanic in his adult life and now living happily retired with my mother. Working on his green thumb and helping to achieve her vision of a beautiful garden.
As she gave me the news, I could tell she was desperately holding every tear and every gasp for air as she finally said the words out loud. I had been the first she told, and she wasn't looking forward to it. I was a woman with an extreme emotional attachment to my family, including the animals we adopted. When we had lost the cat I grew up with, I was a sobbing mess and didn't leave my bed for a day an a half. And you would think in this life I live, after watching death consume my loved ones, I would grow immune. But it was still as heartbreaking as the first. I suppose that's why I chose this. I was passionate about life so I fought with every ounce of strength to protect others.
I let it sink in in silence before muttering, "I have to go," and hanging up without saying goodbye or giving her a chance to say anything more. Even if we both knew we wouldn't talk again for a few days as we grieved.
Cancer is something you hear about. You see the survivors and you attend the rallies and raise money for it but you're never supposed to experience it. It's not suppose to touch you or the ones you care for. It's a tragic story that we tell kids so they don't start smoking, even if the sickness can just exist in you because God decides you haven't suffered enough.
It was never supposed to happen to my father.
It's not supposed to happen at all.
"That was quick," I hear Sam call from the other room, a soft chuckle echoing through the fairly empty bunker, reminding me that I wasn't alone.
I've known about every little detail for months now and have yet to tell either of the Hunters. Worried they would spoil me with love, sad looks and refuse to let me work with them until I was 'emotionally stable.' I didn't need for them to remind me that Death was watching my father closely. I needed to stay busy and to stay angry at the world, forcing me to fight harder.
I opened my mouth to conjure up a response to the youngest brother, but all I could do was stare wide eyed, the dam finally breaking as I pictured my father lying in a hospital bed, weak and fragile with my mother at his side, trying to hold herself together and be strong for the VET.
I knew he'd put on his happy face and remain positive, but I also knew that when he would be left alone for too long, he'd begin to think and let the sorrow for his uncertain future build and depression would take him, if just for a day.
My hand shot up to my mouth, concealing the whimpers that were trying to break through as Sam called for me, slight concern in his voice that I had suddenly gone so quiet. I was unable to speak in a convincing tone that would showed I was fine, so instead I planned, an escape route. Make my way from the kitchen, to the shared bedroom and lock myself inside and just hope the boys would chop it up as my monthly and leave me be.
Slowly, I turned the faucet off and turned to the archway, my heart racing at the thought of seeing a Winchester standing there, observing my behavior. Luckily, the space was empty but I knew they were just on the other side. Sam would be sitting at the long table, some sort of reading material in his hand and Dean would have his feet kicked up on the other end, his brothers laptop on his lap as he scrolled the never-ending Internet universe. Dean called my name next, his chair squeaking as his weight shifted.
I almost broke at the mere sound of his voice.
But I held it together and sucked in a deep breath, hands balled into fists at my side as I stormed forward with my head hung low. I could feel their eyes bore into me as I stepped into their sight, but I didn't dare raise my eyes to meet with theirs. I merely swept on by but as I moved, the chair beneath Dean had nearly been kicked across the room as he leaped for me. He was in front of me in a matter of seconds, his hands gripping me tight enough to let me know he was there, but loose enough to let me slip right away. "Hey-wait-," he spoke urgently, which I replied with a mumbled "No."
His hands frantically reached for me, but the moment I felt his skin touch mine I had begun to panic. "No," I repeated. This time sounding more shaken, my body desperate to get out of his grip. The closer he was to completely engulfing me in his arms, the more trapped I felt. I wanted solitude. I wanted to mourn and allow my facade to break in peace and I couldn't do that with either of them around. I pushed, shoved and clawed my way out of his arms, the tears spilling over, choking me as I cried out to be set free.
The room was in my sight and when I finally felt the slack he gave me unwillingly, I ran for it. His fingers just barely gripping the hem of my shirt but never staying.
With my burst of energy, I felt like I had been catapulted into my room, my legs struggling to come to a stop in order to slam the door closed.
And suddenly, I was alone. Just what I had been waiting for but it was short lived.
The moment my breathing became rapid, hands roaming and tangling in my hair, feeling myself grow dizzy before a soft gust of wind had brushed my back. I turned to find Dean, the inner turmoil I was feeling, showing in his expression as he studied me. I have a silent cry now and then over the certain cases that had gon awry, but I only ever got this bad when Dean had died. Sams death was a close second of my break down intensity. But I needed Dean like I needed air. I was empty without him.
And now it was happening all over again.
"No," I muttered as I charged at him. "Baby-!" he began, cut off as I collided with him, putting as much force as I could to push him out the door. "No, you can't be here! You can't-you have to go. Get out!" I pleaded between broken sobs. Each time I pushed, he came back. Every time I tried to hit him, he deflected with ease. I was fighting a losing battle.
"It's not fair. It's not fair," I repeated angrily over and over again. Still not giving up, even when he had managed to pin my arms down to my side, staring into my hazy eyes. "What isn't fair?"
Twisting my arms with haste, I slipped away from him once more and backed away. The heat from my anger now boiling under my skin and rising to my cheeks as I shouted, "Life isn't fair, Dean!"
He seemed taken aback by my statement, his body relaxing to rest against the door frame, mouth slightly ajar as if he desperately wanted to say something. But he let me continue on, instead.
"We have given so much, Dean. We have worked to the bone. Shedding blood, sweat and tears to keep everyone safe and yet somehow we always get fucked over. For once I want something beautiful to happen to us! It isn't fair and we don't deserve it! He doesn't deserve it."
"He? Who's 'he'?" "He as in the man who created me. The man that raised me, bathed, fed and clothed me. The man that allowed me to stay up late to watch Godzilla. The man that rescued my mother from self-loathing. The man who served this Country yet they will not thank him as Cancer fucking destroys him! My father is plagued by the sickest of things and there isn't anything I can do about it!" Barely registering my actions, my arms had stretched out and swung at the nearest surface, knocking every little item from it and crashing onto the floor. "I fix everything! I fix cars, cuts, broken bones, broken homes but I can't save my own fucking father. I can't save-I can't-"
Distracted, I stared at the one family picture across the room I made sure to carry with me. A constant reminder of what I was fighting for and in a matter of seconds, it was just in front of me as I picked it up, my glistening face, and red eyes reflecting in the glass. There wasn't a single inch of me that wasn't soaked in tears by this point. It slid down my cheeks and then my neck, collecting in the fabric of my shirt.
With eyes sewn shut, I let out the quietest of screams. It was raspy and barely audible even though I had put every ounce of strength into it. The frame was pressed to my chest and my body immediately collapsed, wrapping myself completely around the tiny picture, hoping in a way, I was protecting them.
But I wasn't doing shit.
I was a Hunter with the strongest of shields that had suddenly shattered on the floor.
Dean had made his way to me. His long legs making it easier to get to me in record time. His arms slowly snaked around my body, tugging my body towards him so that I was half laying in his lap with my head pressed to his chest. I was wrapped up into a cocoon of love and for just a moment, I felt content. I felt safe.
But his head buried into the back of my neck, his face vanishing in my thick hair and his arms began to shake, struggling to hold it together.
And then I remember, that Dean and my father were on fantastic terms. The moment they met, the clicked and just enjoyed each others company. One would even argue that they were friends.
No one would make it out of this battle unscathed.
And all it took was a phone call.