Crying Into My Gas Station Taquitos

When I was younger, I often went stargazing with my father. It was one of the few things we had in common and could bond over. Even now, whenever I see the stars I think of those times out in the fields trying to see all the constellations together. My father and I have a complicated relationship, but the stars are the one thing I really share with him.

Around a similar time, my mom and I started listening to Coldplay together. I can’t quite remember which song started it, but it had to have been Viva la Vida. Long Live Life. An ironic song now that I’m looking back on it—because now, mom has cancer. Each day the revelation seems to hit even harder. I got to spend the day with her today, and there was just this …thing looming over us. This ominous cloud. She kept apologizing and listing all the reasons why she was so off, and I just wanted to shake her and tell her to stop apologizing. To say that cancer isn’t her fault. To say that its okay to be so not okay right now. I know I’m supposed to be the strong one for her, that she’s probably grappling with her mortality. But I’m grappling with her mortality too. My mom is my best friend. No 23 year old girl should have to grapple with her mom’s finity.

Before I graduated high school and went to college across the country, my mom and I would routinely listen to A Sky Full Of Stars whenever we got in the car. When the beat dropped, she and I would dance as much as we could in our seats. The car would always be shaking with how hard we were going. Then we would play Yellow or Sparks or Paradise or The Scientist and she would always laugh at me when I made up silly lyrics to the songs. Pair of Dice. Pair of eyes. Aa-hooo I’m a wolf. When I left for college, I would hear Coldplay in the open and be hit with a wave of grief so hard I would have to leave the vicinity, and my mom was still alive.

I think the hardest part of cancer is knowing that she looks okay on the outside, but that something is actively trying to kill her. She hasn’t lost hair, she still looks relatively healthy, but every so often she’ll tense up. I’ll look at her to make sure she’s okay, and she’ll mention that the cancer is hurting her, and it’s just a reminder that though the type she has is survivable, there’s no guarantee. If cancer takes her, not only will I never be able to listen to Coldplay again, I won’t even be able to look at the stars. Somewhere along the way, the thing that my dad and I used bond over slowly became synonimous with mom. I don’t want her to be a star in a sky full of stars. I want her here. Call me selfish, but I don’t want her to leave me. I’d rather die first so that I never have to live a day without her.

So now I’m sitting in the car crying into my gas station taquitos as I head home to soak up as much time with her as I can, because I’m 23 and all of a sudden it’s hitting me that I could lose her for good.

-The Cowgirl