Sang Song Ch.1 BRAND NEW

The electronic doors separated in a whoosh and cool air, with the promise of December rain, blew by me. The dark clouds and chill only served to push my mood deeper as I walked across the parking lot of the oncology clinic. With tempered determination, I made a direct path cutting diagonally across the lot to my green 1967 Mustang Fastback. In my private agony, I ignored a car wanting to get past me to park. Fumbling for my keys, anger hampered my coordination and threatened to make me scream when the keys fall from my fingers and hit the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I stooped down to get them and stalked the short distance to the door. Pushing the key in the tricky little lock, I gave the key the cursory jiggle to persuade the door to open. I threw myself into the driver seat and slammed the door. I tossed the handful of “Multiple Myeloma” and “Living with Cancer” flyers on the passenger seat. The dark tint on the windows that I had for the skin cancer that plagued me for years provided a private cocoon. Sitting still for a moment, my eyes fogged over with an unstoppable flood of tears as the reality of my diagnosis set in.

The tears turned to sobs, then raging cries of anguish. I gripped the top of the steering wheel so hard while shaking and convulsing that my hands started to go numb. Letting go of the wheel I looked up to see my cross necklace hanging from my rear view mirror. Wiping the tears and snot from my face bare handed and wiping my hands on my pants, I tilted my head back to scream at God.

“You have the final say! It doesn’t matter what I do, you are always going to have the last FUCKING word!”

Silence.

I stared at the perfectly restored black headliner that was just finished the week before. It was absurd to have spent so much of my money restoring that Mustang. Of course, there was not going to be an answer for me right then. What I did not know was that the answer would come to me in the strangest way, disguised as evil. Behind the veil of temptation, I would take a journey that seemed impossible. At that moment, I could not see beyond that headliner, beyond that day, as if my future and dreams ceased to exist.

Thoughts swirled in my head, making me dizzy as the news of my diagnosis settled in. It was unfair, not only to me, but to my son Luke. His music career was just starting to take off. He had two songs that were being marketed for commercial use, and had written several more that he was ready to record with his band. He did not need a mother with cancer to slow him down. We had already dealt with so much and come so far from the Luke's father had died.

That late July evening, some sort of nurse or orderly took me by the arm as the investigating officer led me through the morgue doors to identify my husband Richard. He looked like nothing to me, a mass of meat, wearing Richard's helmet and torn leather jacket lay on the table in the morgue. Staring like a zombie and shuffling my feet to a side table, I had to identify him by his wallet contents. The worst thing was that I had wished him dead and there he was. My wish had come true.

I was clinically depressed for two months after that; my son at age 17 had been living with my Mom and Dad. They stated that I was “…not in an emotionally stable state to be a parent”. After Luke turned 18 and months of counseling, we relocated to San Francisco, Luke and I tried to move on.

After moving to the bay area we had a rough start, he refused to eat regular meals with me and he had been cutting himself. He would disappear for two or three days at a time, and come home emaciated and would sleep through an entire day. I followed him to a home for runaway teens. After talking to the housemother in private, she insisted that he have group sessions with the others. His behavior changed almost immediately, so it seemed we were on the right track again.

For the next 5 years, we created a modest life. I worked as a waitress/server at a couple of places until I found “The Warf”. It was a fine seafood restaurant with moderately priced meals that was located in the Sea Cliff area of the San Francisco Peninsula. After a couple of years, I saved up a down payment for a small condominium and Luke had enough part time work to stay in the apartment we had shared.

Being in San Francisco was good for Luke. He found fellow musicians and developed the skill to write songs. He could play guitar for hours in the park and eventually had a following of several friends that would hang around and watch him play. He had some of his new friends form a band and performed at local venues. It seemed like the world was just opening its door for him and then it decided to close the door on me.

Resting my forehead on the steering wheel I realized that time was short. Without treatment, I could live 6 months, with treatment about 2 years. The decision about having chemo was easy; there was no way I would do it. The question of quality versus quantity made my decision for me. The endless appointments and side effects would impair my ability to keep up with Luke. The bigger question was how to make the most out of the time I had left.

Finally recovered enough to risk starting the car, the engine roared to life. The power of her engine growled and I gently backed out of the parking space and pulled carefully into traffic. There was no sense getting in an accident, the precious little time I had was not to be wasted. The rain started to dot my car as I entered the freeway. The wipers worked just fine on a low setting, with a minimal squeak. I smirked at the fact that at that time my windshield was getting wet, my eyes were getting dry.