I beat cancer and saved a place beside the hospital bell for my family. None of them came. Then my doctor handed me a letter that made me wish their absence was all I had to cry about.
In our family, my older sister Paige was the academic star, and my younger brother Dean was the athlete Mom never stopped bragging about.
And me?
I was Nora. I preferred building things to collecting trophies.
But when I won a woodworking competition at sixteen, I finally had a trophy of my own.
I preferred building things.
My mom, Linda, barely glanced at it. “That’s nice, sweetheart. But have you considered a real career?”
Dad looked up from his newspaper.
“Linda, she built that cabinet herself.”
“Richard, I’m thinking about her future.”
“So am I.”
Have you considered a real career?
Dad was a carpenter. I practically grew up in his workshop.
“Why can’t Mom be proud of me?”
“She doesn’t understand what you do, kiddo.”
“And you do?”
“Of course. You make something out of nothing. That’s a gift.”
I’m thinking about her future.
By twenty-eight, I owned a successful furniture restoration business.
“When are you getting a respectable job?” Mom asked one evening.
“I already have one.”
“Making tables?”
“Linda,” Dad warned.
You make something out of nothing.
“It’s fine, Dad.”
Later, he pulled me aside. “Why do you let her talk to you like that?”
“It’s easier than arguing.”
“Easier for whom?”
I couldn’t answer.
A successful furniture restoration business.
Dad never pushed me. He just helped with orders and dreamed about our future projects.
“One day, kiddo, we’ll turn that old barn at the country house into a proper workshop.”
“With two workbenches?”
“Three. I’m not sharing my tools.”
“And who’s paying for all that?”
It’s easier than arguing.
Dad grinned. “Let me dream, Nora.”
We laughed.
But the year I turned twenty-eight, our plans came to a sudden halt.
After weeks of exhaustion, pain, and tests, Dr. Harris delivered the diagnosis.
“It’s cancer.”
He dreamed about our future projects.
“But I have orders to finish.”
“We need to talk about treatment, Nora.”
Dad came over that afternoon.
“Tell me what you need.”
“I don’t know.”
Our plans came to a sudden halt.
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
Mom arrived with groceries.
“You need to stop eating sugar. And those workshop chemicals can’t be helping!”
“Mom, my doctors are handling this.”
My sister Paige called occasionally, usually distracted by her children. My brother Dean helped with errands.
It’s cancer.
