Live Like You were Dying

Spreading News

Disclaimer: I only own Rhiannon. No one else…

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Randy watched Rhiannon play happily. Gazing from his daughter to his best friend and back, he prepared to give Trish the worst news ever.

"Trisha, I have some bad news," he murmured, watching Rhiannon play. Trish groaned.

"Last time you told me you had bad news, it was to tell me you were moving." She said. "Taking Rhiannon even farther?" Randy sighed. This was going to be even more difficult. "No, wait, last time you told me about bad news, it was to tell me you had cancer. Does it have something to do with that?"

"I'm dying. The cancer isn't responding to the treatment," he blurted out.

The petite woman collapsed in his arms. Randy, gently running his fingers through her hair, prepared to comfort her and hold his own tears back.

It seemed as if all he did was cry since getting the prognosis. It surprised him. He wasn't one to cry. Even when the diagnosis had first come in, he hadn't cried.

Trish had always been there for him. She had introduced him to his husband. She had given him Rhiannon. She was his best friend in every way. To see her cry cemented the situation for what it was.

"Randy, what about John and Rhiannon?" she asked, trembling violently. "Have you told them?"

"John knows," Randy muttered, sighing. "We don't know how to tell Rhiannon. We don't want to scare her,"

The back of his hand was marred with scar tissue from repeated Ivs. Gently, she traced the marks. "You're really sick, aren't you?"

Randy nodded, stifling a cough. "Yes. The cancer's spreading slowly. They say it'll be a few weeks before I feel anything, but within eight months or so it'll kill me,"

Randy hated seeing the pain in Trish's eyes.

"Do you remember when I dragged you bra shopping or when John wanted to call her Isis Symphony?" Trish asked, watching Rhiannon play.

"How could I forget?" he asked, lightly kissing Trish's head.

This news was worse than what Trish ever could have imagined. She had been expecting good news. Instead, she found out her best friend had mere months to live.

"Don't cry," Randy murmured. "Not yet. Save your tears," Just then Rhiannon ran up.

"Papa, what's heaven?"

The small child's innocent question caught him off guard. Clearing his throat, he prepared to answer her question.

"Heaven is where you go when you die. It's beautiful. You never get sick and you never get old,"

Rhiannon looked at him as if trying to take it all in. Blinking back tears, Randy met Trish's gaze. "Is that where Flopsy went?" Her small voice broke the silence.

"Yes, Flopsy's in Heaven,"

Randy had never known that six simple words could have so much impact. As soon as Rhiannon was on the playground, he broke down.

Trish wasn't used to seeing her best friend cry. In fact, she found it slightly awkward. She understood why he was crying but that didn't make it any easier.

"Shh," she whispered, rubbing his back. "It's going to be fine,"

As Trish took Rhiannon to the bathroom, Randy pulled his journal out. Beginning to cry, he began to write.

I've just explained the concept of Heaven to Rhiannon. I'm not sure how much she understands, but it almost killed me.

Why would she ask me about that now?

It doesn't make sense.

Just then, Rhiannon snuggled up to him.

"I love you Papa"

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This fic has me tearing up. I hope you enjoyed it. Five reviews gets Part 3 up