Kurt didn't realize what was happening until it was too late.
Mom being sick just meant she needed some extra sleep, but that was okay. She would cradle his head under the comforter, and her warmth and the smell of roses would fill his senses. They would gaze at the TV playing Sound of Music and they would sing along softly to every song. She would fall asleep, her fingers still lightly carding through her son's hair, her humming slowly fading into the deep breaths of sleep. Sometimes Kurt would lay there and let her heartbeat slowly lull him into a nap, and sometimes he would gently wiggle out from underneath her embrace to watch her peaceful face.
...
"What's Mommy sick with?" Kurt asked his dad one day, his head tilting to one side as he watched his dad do the fifth oil change of the day. "Does she have a cold? Because I could ask Dr. Simmons for cough syrup for her." He wrinkled his freckly nose at the memory of its taste, but he also recalled that it helped him get better when he was sick. He assumed it could do the same for her.
Burt looked up with a sad smile and backed up from the car he was working on. "No, kid, that won't help her." He crouched down and pressed his thumb to Kurt's cheek with an affectionate gaze. He watched as Kurt squirmed underneath his stained finger and ran off to the sink to remediate the new smudge. Burt followed him quietly and leaned against the door frame with a shaky exhale. "Your mom's body isn't being so nice to her."
"That doesn't make sense," Kurt claimed, wiping his face with a cloth and raising a skeptical eyebrow. The seven-year old looked up and saw his dad's slumped posture and fell quiet. His mind still swam with questions, but he simply made his way to the worn couch against the wall of his dad's office and began coloring a piece of construction paper.
...
A couple of hours later, Burt was still busy at the shop, so Kurt wandered to the public library next door. He found his way to the health section, but from there became confused with the medical terminology. With a shy grin, he shuffled up to the librarian and peered over the edge of the desk. "Hi," he greeted the wrinkly face on the other side. "What does it mean when your body isn't being nice to you?"
The librarian set down her pen to get a better look at the boy, her brows slightly furrowed. "I suppose it just means you're sick," she replied noncommittally - this wasn't her field.
"Well, duh, I know that," said Kurt with a subtle eye roll. Catching himself and his manners, he added, "sorry, I'm just confused. My dad says Mommy's body isn't being nice to her and I don't get it."
Realization dawned on the old woman's face and she swallowed thickly. "Oh, sweetheart, you need to talk to your dad about that. It could mean a lot of things. I'm just a librarian, not a doctor."
...
"The librarian says you need to tell me what's happening with Momma," announced Kurt as he slipped back into his dad's shop. Burt jumped and hit his head on the bottom of a car.
"Jesus, Kurt, I thought you were still in my office." Burt slipped out from underneath the car and wiped his hands on his coveralls with a shaky sigh. Kurt looked at him expectantly. "Bud, your mom... she has cancer. She's not getting better."