This short story is a work of fiction.

“Please, two more minutes. I know she'll be here.” Even as I said the words, I knew it was a lie. It could be 200 more minutes; she still would not come. I wanted my mom. I wanted her to say, “I'll take care of you, everything will be alright, I love you.”

The nurse smiled warmly and held my hand. “It's time Eva. Maybe she'll be here when you wake up.”

So, again, I would get my chemotherapy and spinal tap without my mom. And, again, two doctors would need to sign all the paperwork because my mom was not there. My treatment continued while my mother was passed out in the parking lot of the nearby liquor store.

My mother is as bright as the sun. Her thick golden hair and gigantic smile filled up the room whenever she visited my grandmother's house. I was sure she was coming to see me, only to find out she was in search of cash. No matter why she was there, I wanted to know everything about her. Where was she living now? Who was she living with? Did she still have the job bussing tables? When could I move back in with her? Did she miss me?

My mom's drug and alcohol use could be traced back to some family trait which caused seemingly unsuspecting humans to cope in a very destructive way. Like her father and her father's father, she started drinking to hide her mind from the abuse. After one very violent episode with the boyfriend-of-the-month, the police came, and that is when my address changed to my granny's house. Although granny tried, she weathered too much abuse from my mom's dad to understand how to love a child.

I was sure everything would change when they told me I had leukemia. The doctors said that many children are cured but it is still cancer. You can die from cancer! Surely, my mom would want to be with me through the treatments.

I celebrated my 10th birthday at a children's hospital. Most grown-ups looked sad when they would come visit me, but the hospital was a happy place. The nurses and young doctors were always sharing new toys and silly jokes when they would come into my room every morning. Sometimes the respiratory therapist played the blow out the candles game with me. The young doctors who were there all night would sometimes watch cartoons with me. It sounds strange but I liked the hospital.

The look on the social worker's face when she heard yet again my mother failed to show up was obvious even to my 10-year-old self. I told myself maybe she was out looking for a job, so she could get a new apartment without mold so I could stay with her when I was discharged from the hospital. But when they told me my mother had been in a minor car accident, I knew the truth.

What my social worker said next, I was not expecting. The doctors and nurses needed to talk with my granny, and then me. This was something new. Also new was the look on the face of my favorite doctor who walked into my room with a crowd of people. Like the grown-ups who come to visit, she looked sad today. I knew from granny's face; something is not right. The young doctor pulled up a chair, surrounded by my favorite nurse, my social worker, my respiratory therapist, and the older doctor with the long white coat.

“Eva, we need to talk about your lab tests. Your cancer has come back, and we need to change your treatment. The most important thing to know is that you are not alone, we are all here with you, and we will always tell you the truth.”

The truth.

My social worker had told me the doctors and nurses would always tell me the truth. She said, “Eva, sometimes our imagination is scarier than the truth. Remember you can ask me anything and I will be honest with you.”

The truth was that my leukemia was not going away. The months of needles, tubes, and swallowing pills as big as my thumb had worked for a while, but like the nasty weeds in granny's garden my leukemia came back.

What came next was a blur. Words, words, and more words. Big words, most I did not understand. All I could think of is, where's my mom? The truth was I needed my mom; I wanted my mom.

The happiest days of my life were when my mom and I lived in the apartment next to the park. Back when she had a job and no boyfriend. Back before the leukemia. Every Sunday morning on her only day off she and I would run to the park. She always insisted we start at the swings. She would push me so high I thought I could fly. Her long golden hair swung just like the swings. Her laugh filled me with joy. I love my mom.

So now in this hospital room surrounded by people who care for me, I am alone.

Another month has gone by. A month of diarrhea, vomiting, fever, skin blisters, swelling of both my legs, and pain everywhere including my right big toe. There's still no change in the nasty leukemia—it is like the treatment made it angry.

The next morning granny came in with a smile on her face.

“Eva, I found your mom, and she's on her way here.”

Words I have been waiting for.

Later that day my sunshine into the room. My mom!

“Eva, my sweet baby, I am so sorry for everything I've done and even more sorry for everything I didn't do.”

She hugs me and climbs into bed with me.

“My sweet baby, I will never forget the second you were born. When I saw your beautiful face, my heart filled with joy. You were such a happy baby. I love you so much!”

“Mom, did granny tell you my leukemia came back?”

Now tears well up in her eyes and she hugs me even tighter.

“Eva, I never told you this, but I chose your name the minute you were born. Eva means ‘life’ and that is exactly what you give to me. You give me life. I've made lots of mistakes in my life, but you are the one exception. I'm not going anywhere.”

The social worker who told me that our imagination can be scarier than the truth was right. My biggest fear was that my mom did not love me. I closed my eyes, knowing the truth.