"I thought it may have been Mom's cheesy potatoes. It was Easter, and in between doing a million things, she added too much butter. When she first pulled the pan from the oven, a thick layer of oil wriggled at the top. My brother, father and I playfully jabbed at it with our fingers, giggling as Mom rolled her eyes and scraped the oil off into the trash before dropping it on the table with an annoyed thump."
"One month after Easter, my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer. In the year that followed, Dad stepped into his treatment with hope and resolve. He'd crack jokes with the staff that administered his chemo, forgot about the port in his chest and would walk talkative laps with us in the hospital ward when he needed stents in his kidneys. But over time, the disease gathered strength and pulled more from him."
"The day he was diagnosed, I had flown home from Chicago and entered into a silent pact with myself. I would never break in front of him. I wouldn't let my fear and anger become a burden and give him more to bear. On the way home, I hid in a dirty bathroom stall, sobbing gently so no one would hear me. I nodded politely at airline attendants"
On Easter, excess butter left an oily layer atop Mom's cheesy potatoes while the family joked and ate reluctantly. The father experienced months of indigestion, nausea and poor appetite that were attributed to travel, flu or food. One month after Easter, he was diagnosed with colon cancer. During the following year he began treatment with hope, undergoing chemotherapy, placement of a chest port and kidney stents, but he progressively lost weight, hair and faith in recovery. The narrator made a private promise to remain composed for him and silently cried alone on a flight home.
Read at BuzzFeed
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