But I know she will be okay in a few days. Up and around, starting projects and making messes and hogging the computer to research some new exotic pet we ought to adopt. I know she'll get out of bed every morning and I know that next Tuesday morning she will put on a special outfit and go to school. And we'll be hearing R tell all her many stories again - the many tales and dramas of the 10 and 11-year-olds in her world - not to mention all the eccentric teachers. Coronation Street's got nothing on these people.
Last week, we went for a playdate at R's new friend's house. It was my first time properly meeting this girl and her parents. I had seen them briefly at the camp bus, the day R returned from camp (where they met), but that was all.
The girl is 12 and we'll call her Lara (EDIT: "Lara" is shown in the photo above, in white. My daughter is on the right, in the bubble-gum pink top).
The sound of Lara's voice is the part of her I think of first - possibly because I heard it on the phone the many times she has called R to chat and plan the play date. The melody of her voice spills out of the phone like laughter when they talk.
It's a very, very, sweet voice. The voice of a curious, happy, hopeful girl - a child who sees everything that happens as part of the lovely build-up to an extremely funny punch line. Some people describe a voice like hers as bubbly. I'd say hers is lighter and floatier than the lightest, floatiest bubbles. I'd even go so far as to say bubbles have something to learn from Lara's voice. It's just so damned eager and positive and happy and fun and affirming and upbeat and young and sweet, just like she is.
The strange thing about it all? This girl has nothing to be happy or hopeful about. She has terminal bone cancer. Stage 4. And to answer the question forming in your mind right now? The doctors say it's only a matter of time.
Lara will be having 3 consecutive days of radiation this week at SickKids hospital. Not to cure the tumours - at least 6 which have appeared in various sites within her body since her left leg was amputated last summer. The radiation treatments will be done just to try to reduce the extreme pain, mainly from the newest tumour that has decided to grow - and grow fast - in Lara's back.
If you've ever gone for a playdate - whether to stay the whole time or to chat with the child's mom for a few minutes before going off to run a few errands- you know how the conversation usually goes. You hear about the other girl's incredibly advanced violin lessons, the soccer championship she's just won, the amazing new teacher she'll be getting. Sometimes in the darkest conversations you might hear how the family recently dealt with a school bully. How math has become a struggle. How they've finally given up on piano lessons. Heavy stuff.
Imagine talking to a mother who has to admit to you that her child won't make it through the coming school year? Without a miracle, will not be alive this time next summer?
Kind of puts things in perspective.
Nothing I can say about it here could possibly do justice to the way I felt, and feel, having been witness to the way this girl's mother is feeling.
The world Lara's mother lives in is a different one from mine. Her world is one of slowly losing the grasp of her most precious thing. Her little girl. A world in which she knows that, soon, she won't be able to hold her baby in her arms ever again. She won't be able to smooth her daughter's hair - what's left of it - off her sweet brow. Won't be able to delight her as easily as offering an ice cream cone. Won't be able to watch her play soccer, or perform martial arts. Won't be able to indulge in a rainy sick day with chicken soup and DVDs and tons of hope and expectations for a busy, healthy, future.
If Lara were my child, I don't know how I'd ever survive the heartbreak of it. Of knowing I'll never hear that beautiful voice again.
And now I really wish the only actual phrase I remember hearing that voice say wasn't "Mommy, I need a morphine." And I'm absolutely certain there's something very wrong with a world where something like that can happen.
EDIT DEC. 2013: Lara has passed away. This is as unbelievable as it is sad.
Just an update to say that the girl in this post died a few weeks ago. I will add her photo. She is the one with short hair, on the left. The other happy girl is my daughter.
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