Chapter 2The Ghost of Seventeen

When I got home, my dad was sitting on the porch, a cheap cigarette hanging from his mouth, his face a mask of despair.

Mom wasn't there.

He handed me a report. It was the diagnosis. Breast cancer.

Dad took a long drag of his cigarette. "The treatment is going to cost hundreds of thousands. I talked it over with your mom... we aren't going to do it."

"Your mom said she wanted that pulled pork I make. Go buy the meat. I’m going to the hospital to bring her home in a bit."

I didn't believe it. I flipped through that report over and over, my voice shaking. "Is it a confirmed diagnosis? These things are misdiagnosed all the time. Tomorrow, I’m taking Mom to another hospital. This has to be a mistake..."

I looked at my dad stubbornly.

Dad’s eyes were bloodshot. He just looked at me, saying nothing.

In that second, the tears fell. I couldn't stop them.

Finally, I choked out, "I’m quitting school. Let’s use the money for Mom’s treatment."

Dad just kept his head down.

I knew my dad’s heartbreak wasn't less than mine.

Dad had a prosthetic leg. Back in the day, my mom was the only one willing to be with him, never judging him, always encouraging him.

Even though we were poor, my parents loved each other fiercely.

In middle school, when everyone was starting to talk about their faith and beliefs, I asked him, "Dad, what’s your faith?"

Dad didn't really get what "faith" meant, so I gave him a rough explanation.

He scratched his head, embarrassed. "I guess your mom is my faith."

And later...

I had a faith of my own, too.

I wanted to grow up, make money, and take my parents to see the world.

Now, my dad’s faith was collapsing.

And mine was, too.

I grabbed my dad’s hand, speaking to myself as much as him. "I’m not going back to school. I’ll get a job. We’ll go to New York City. We’ll get Mom the best doctors."

Dad smoked, saying nothing.

But my mind was made up. I told Dad to go get Mom, and I started packing things up for New York.

Then, I went back to school.