Making It: A Short Story of Discovery and Survival for Daughter's of All Ages

"Are you sure I'm going to make it?" my little girl asks with nervous eyes glancing up at me.

Oh, that she should use those words. "I promise sweetheart. Mommy did it when she was your age, too."

She still holds my hand tightly as she looks again from my face to the old tire swing, then to the cold lake a few feet down below.

"Were you scared?" Kaitlin asks.

My motherly reaction is to say no, to be calming of her own fear, but if I'm honest with her, and I always try to be, then of course yes, I was. The first time I stood on this bank was the hot afternoon of my seventh birthday - hard to believe that's been 23 years this July. A part of me doesn't want to think about it, to remember that summer. I've spent a long time forgetting that scared feeling. The other part of me, the part that has learned to enjoy the good memories without feeling like drowning in murky water, stands there and smiles and lets it all come back. I let myself remember through child's eyes.

~

"Happy Birthday darling." My mom smiled as she watched dad hand me a very large box wrapped in beautiful red paper and a velvet bow. My eyes went round because every child knows that only the best gifts come in packages that big.

I hadn't been expecting anything fancy this year. I knew that mom and dad wanted it to be a birthday like every other year, but I also knew that ever since mom had gotten sick, gifts and outings and trinkets for being good were happening less and less. All I really wanted was to have a day where we could all laugh and have fun together like we used to. Where everything wasn't a struggle.

Dad carefully set the box down on the floor next me and smiled with a bit of mischief. "Go ahead, open it." he said.

I pulled the end of the velvet ribbon and realized that it was from my mom's big white hat that she used to wear, the one that I would sneak into her closet and put on with her high heels. "Maybe she's giving me her hat?" I wondered. I hoped not. It looked so pretty on her.

I was never a child to rip open gifts. I liked to undo them neatly. This was the most beautiful big box I'd ever been given and I wasn't about to ruin it any sooner than I had do.

Once I got the paper off, the cardboard box inside was only lightly taped shut so that I could easily pull it apart. Suddenly I was nervous and excited all at once and I was almost afraid to find out what this amazing gift was that my parents had so clearly picked out and packed with care. I looked at them and smiled as I closed my eyes and reached inside; hesitant at what I might touch that would give away the surprise.

I felt something firm, but a little squishy, with ridges and bumps. And then I smelled something that was almost earthy, a little sweet, and like something burnt. Amidst the smell and confusion, I opened my eyes and craned my head forward to solve the mystery.

What I found was a tire.

With my brows unconsciously furrowed, I glanced up at my smiling parents. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I changed my face and said "Thank you very much." To my surprise they didn't seem phased at what, despite my best efforts to hide it, had to be obvious disappointment.

"It's a tire. For a tire swing," my dad said. "How would you like to go down to the lake and be the first one to jump in from your new swing, hmm?"

Instantly my face was all grin and I jumped up and ran to him. "Really? A day at the lake just like we used to have?"

"Just like we used to have," my mom chimes in. I ran over to her and threw my arms around her neck, not wanting to be careful of how hard I squeezed.

"While mom's serving up cake and ice cream and I'm cleaning up lunch, why don't you go get changed into your swimsuit."

"Ok dad!"

~

At seven, you don't really keep track of time and events in time in the most reliable way, as everything seems subject to phrases like always and never and forever ago and just now. You keep track by holidays and events that spark feelings. I did know that it had been a long time since we'd all gone down to the lake together, even though it was summer and even though it was just a few minutes walk from our back door. Sometimes my Auntie Sarah would come to see mom and my cousins were big enough that they could take me down there. And sometimes when dad wasn't busy working or helping mom, he would sit on the bank while I played in the water and I would wonder why he would look into the distance for a long time.

It was just after Christmas when I started to notice that my mom wasn't acting herself. When she was busy in the kitchen, sometimes she would put down whatever was in her hands, close her eyes and lean against to counter. I'd see her make a face that looked like she was wishing something away. When I would make a sound, she would open her eyes and smile at me and continue about whatever she was doing.

She didn't want anyone to know that something was wrong, but I did; I knew.

Sometimes I would watch her when she didn't know I was around, and I would see her rubbing at her head and frowning and I'd see her have to take more and more aspirin to get the headaches to go away. She fooled us both for a little while.

When she was driving us home from church one day, she suddenly grabbed her head and winced as she almost drove into the car beside us.

"Karen, what's wrong? Sweetheart, pull over." My dad commanded. I could hear the fear in his voice and I could tell that he'd noticed and was concerned over her behavior lately.

"It's ok, Sam, I've just got a migraine," she tried to justify while unbuckling her seatbelt. They changed places and as dad slid behind the wheel, he said, "I'm not taking any chances. You are finally going to the hospital to get this checked out. No more objections."

She didn't object. I knew that something must be terribly wrong, because she never gave in that easily.

We spent that day at the hospital and what my dad had hoped to be a quick dismissal for overreaction was instead a confirmation of his worst fear. His beloved wife, my cherished mother, had brain cancer, and things would only get worse from here.

Of course, I had no concept of cancer at the age of six and with the future bleak, but uncertain, they told me the worst, but explained that we would all hope for the best. At six, it's a lot easier to hope, so I did.

~

I grabbed my sandals and ran towards the kitchen, eager for cake, but more eager to spend a day as a real family again.

As I came around the corner in the hall, I saw my mom sitting at the kitchen table holding my dad's hand on her shoulder while she talked on the phone. With an anxious voice, I heard her ask, "Are you sure I'm going to make it, doctor?" There was a brief pause and then her shoulders dropped and my dad dropped to his knees beside her, burying his head in her lap. Yesterday I'd heard mom talking to Auntie Sarah about waiting for test results and knew that this must be good news, that she must be ok and we wouldn't have to hope anymore!

She hung up the phone and sat there bent over my dad's large frame for a little while until he looked up at her and they shared a look I didn't understand at only seven years old.

After our celebration cake, I had to wait for mom and dad to get ready, and being grown-ups, they took entirely too long for a seven year old celebrating the happiest day of her life. When mom came out, she was wearing her big, white hat and looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her. The only thing missing was the pretty, velvet ribbon. I ran to the couch, found the ribbon, and brought it back to her, saying, "Now you can look as pretty as a package, too." Teary-eyed, she put the ribbon back on her hat.

~

"Mommy, are you sure I'm going to make it?" I ask.

"Of course, darling. You are such a brave little girl, you can do anything you set your mind to," she tells me, and I believe her.

I square my shoulders and let go of her hand, putting on a brave face. I walk up to the tire, my very own tire, and grab the rope that it swings from. I give the rope a tug, just to be sure that my dad has tied it nice and tight. Of course he has.

The only thing I'm scared of now is that this moment won't last. With a quick glance back at my parents sitting side by side a few feet away, I take a few steps back then run forward, grab the rope, jump in the air, and fly out over the abyss. I know if I look down, I won't want to let go. I trust my mom; she said I was brave. I let go.

In those few seconds, time seems to stop and rush by in a lifetime as my heart pounds so fast while I free fall and then splash into that chilly water. I burst up smiling to the sound of my parents clapping and everything seems right with the world.

~

Once I'd made that first swing out over the water and had the courage to face the moment and let go, I had to do it again and again, all summer long. It was a golden moment and I think we all felt that it was a turning point. We thought we were going to make it, be ok.

The truth was, I did and she didn't. My mom got stronger and better and we were all happy again, until one day the headaches began once more and within a month she was gone. She had made it for a little while, and I was going to have to learn how to make it forever without her.

After she died, I never went back to the swing. I couldn't bare to be there without her, knowing that she wouldn't be smiling or clapping as I came up from the water, and I wouldn't hear her laughing or telling me what a good job I'd done. I still went to the lake sometimes and when I was a teenager, I spent many clandestine evenings with boys, listening to the small waves and feeling comforted as I watched the stars. But I never went back to that place. The place with the happiest last memories I would ever have of my sweet mother.

She was right though, I did make it.

~

Kaitlin tugs on my arm, drawing me back to the present. I'm glad that I brought her here today. To a place where I can tell her of the grandmother that she will never meet, a place where I can finally remember fondly. More importantly, a place where new memories can be made and I can look to the future.

Someday, I hope that Kaitlin brings her own daughter to this place, and smiles when she asks, "Are you sure I'm going to make it?"