Everything changed after that.
College tours disappeared from the calendar.
Prom plans became oncology appointments.
Saturday mornings became blood tests.
I learned the location of every vending machine on the pediatric floor.
Eli started doing homework in hospital waiting rooms.
Maya tried to joke through most of it.
She hated when people looked at her with pity.
If I cried in front of her, she’d point at me and say,
“Absolutely not. We are not turning my room into a sad Lifetime movie.”
That was Maya.
Even when she was scared, she wanted everyone else laughing.
For a while, we let ourselves believe she’d still make it to graduation.
Then the doctors stopped talking about recovery.
And started talking about time.
One Thursday afternoon in April, Maya surprised me.
