Here it finally was. Sitting quietly on the hot pavement of some unknown gas station, I fumbled endlessly with a stick jabbing it at the ground. I could see the worry in my dad’s face, the worry he always tried to hide from us kids. Slowly pacing nervously outside the bathroom door, pausing occasionlly to knock and ask “are you ok hun?” It was hard enough seeing him in this state, but it was even harder seeing him trying to keep me from watching it all unfold. Yet there was nothing to hide anymore. This was the beginning of mother’s end. I felt as though I was 3 again when my mother had hurt her back attending to a household chore. She sat in a dining room chair as my father brought her ice and my brother and sister sat next to her drawing pictures. I stood frozen a few feet away just watching the whole scene unfold in front of me. I was scared of her because it was the first time I realized parents weren’t indestructable. As she called for me to come to her, all I could do was cry and retreat to the kitchen to take refuge under a countertop. I decided I didn’t want to see her again because she wasn’t the same person I thought she was. 16 years later and here I am frozen again on the side of some road listening to the shrill dry heeves coming from within the women’s room. It had seemed lately everytime she ate the meal would end next to the toilet watching it all resurface. It had been monthes of heavy medications and intense feats with chemotherapy that made her body ache with queesyness. So as the hair began to fall out and unnatural wigs started to frame her face the more I started to wish I could retreat back to that countertop. Despite the eloquent speaker my dad was, in the last month his words started to fumble, to get lost in translation. Each family outing would start with dad pulling us each aside to remind us to be good, to remember this could very well be the last... “dad! god, I know. just stop.” We all noticed his eyes, his wondering eyes that wouldn’t stop watching mom. As if any minute she was going to fall over, as if any minute he would have to run to her rescue. Though you could get caught up in the beauty of his love for her, it was also a sickening reminder of how real this cancer was. So I watched his shoes as he etched a new path in front of that bathroom door. once they stopped I would know he heard a sink turn on or a the lock bein unlatched. As mom emerged he’d look at her as if she was the only woman in the world, help smooth out her wig and embrace her in those two superman arms. My insides jump because this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, yet the most unnerving knowing he meant each touch as his last. Sitting there I felt a rush come over me as I watched them. I wanted to run to them, to put my arms around them. I wanted them to know how much I loved them, how much I loved their love for one another. A new found respect for my father emerged that day. How he looked at his half withered away wife like she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to him. I wanted to be him, I wanted to be able to love like him. I want to have that love. I love you mom. I love you dad. thank you for everything. thank you so much for loving Moni, Bri guy and I so unconditionally.