Nicole LeBlanc

Hey NICOLE PRINT THIS ONE OUT IF IT IS STILL TOO LONG SEND ME A MESSAGE ON MYSPACE I SILL BE ON OK THANKS BYE This disease had been going on for almost four years. Breast cancer and stomach ulcers. I was thirteen. So young and naive to think nothing could ever happen to us. I use to be thin and tall for my age, dark hair and wore glasses. My father did not want to share anything with me. I guess he, like a lot of Latino men, had the "machismo" of not sharing their feelings. Made them feel too "girlie". He had black hair and a matching mustache. Along with his deep, dark eyes that I never saw shed tears. My sister did not want to talk about it. She looked beautiful with her perfect straight, brown hair. My brother, too young to understand what was going on. His innocence, and young, angelic face was adorable. His eyes, same as all of us, dark brown. In my mom's room the scent of the strong medicine swarmed throughout. The murmur of the respirator gave me chill bumps every time I heard it. Her face droopy, tired, and exhausted. Her hands pale, she looked so sick. I let her sleep. I had many memories during all of this. All the medicines my mom had to take, all of the pain I saw her go through was horrible. The truth is, my family did not want me to know how bad it really was. It started in the year 2000. The doctors found something wrong with my mom. I remember her asking me to go to the hospital with her, but I hated those cold hallways, screaming children and mischievous little ones running about with sticky hands. "No thanks, I would rather stay." I would always tell her. Months later the doctor detected breast cancer. He said she needed to start chemo right away. My mother had surgery to remove her right breast. Chemo was hard, for the whole family. Her excesive loss of hair made me realize it was serious! I remember going to a store to buy my mom's first wig. I felt embarrased and therefore I did not support her in finding one. "This one will do for now. It will not take me long to grow my hair back." The shortness of the board-straight, brown haired, wig was a great look on her. Her hair grew back a year later. Around September of 2004 she had chemo done again; the cancer had spread before the doctors could stop it. She lost her hair again, her wig was gone, all she wore on her head was a blue hat with a white line around it. Christmas came and even though we didn't have enough money to have an abundant amount of presents, we enjoyed the company of one another. March, the worst month. My mother had gotten worse. She mostly spent her time lying in bed and did not have an apetite. I remember one week before Easter, Nicole came up to me and asked, "How's your mom doing?" "Fine" I lied. I was not one to have someone feel sorry for me. "Oh. Someone told my mom that the doctor gave your mom two more weeks." "I do not think so; you must have gotten the wrong information." I was mad but did not show it. How are doctors suppose to decide when a person dies? Easter holidays came; I started talking to my mom about next Christmas. "Your aunt from Italy wants you and your sister to visit them at Christmas time." "Wow! Christmas in Italy! Bonne Natale!" Right then, Angie came in. "Mom, did you take your medicine?" Angie asked. I was feeding my mom and saw a white pill on the floor. "Yes, I think I did." "Then, what is this mami?" I asked "Oh," she laughed heartily. We all laughed. My mom told Angie about Italy and my mother said "I have to get better to take care of your little brother so the both of you can go." "You will." my sister reassured her. I felt she had more faith then me. Before I left her room that night, I noticed her belly was bigger than usual, like a bloated balloon about to pop. She had ulcers in her stomach. Saturday morning a nurse came to give my mom her shots. Sunday morning I went into her room, she looked asleep, but she made noises. A lot of our friends were at our house. I felt I could not have a single moment alone with her. My mother did not talk at all. She was like this until Monday. Monday night our house was packed. There weren't even enough seats for everyone. I stayed in my room. There was a knock on my door. "Dad said for you and Albert to go to mom's room." Angie said I got off my bed and told Albert to come with me. Grown-ups surrounded my mother's bed. Some looked sad and worried. They were all different sizes, and of course with a year-round tan. They told me to give my mother a hug and to tell her that I was with her. I felt like crying. She looked on the verge of death. Her eyes closed shut as if in a deep dream, her hands pale and dead-like, her body lying motionless. I couldn't handle it, but I did not break-down, that showed weakness, and I was always the "strong one". I had all this bottled up. "Tomorrow! I will stay by her side tomorrow and talk to her " I thought to myself. I left her room and went to mine. Tuesday morning, I heard a knock on my door. I awoke and my aunt was standing there with a black suit on. Her black clothes match her dark hair and fitted her volumptuous body type perfectly. "What is it?" "I don't know how to say it," I looked up. My mother's room door was closed. "but God took your mother away yesterday night while you slept." My dad, and uncle were the only ones at the house that morning. Although my uncle was skinnier and looked youger then my dad he could pass as my dad's twin. My father looked like he had not slept at all. I didn't know what to say. All I wanted was another day. I felt vulnerable, I couldn't do anything! Tears poured down my face. Funeral arrangement were made. The next couple of months were hard. March 29, 2005 is the date I will never forget. I now know tomorrow is not always promised. I had to learn this life lesson in a hard way.