Luke's POV

After a sleepless night, it is finally morning. Now I'm so used to Maine that my body has to readjust to the timezone change again. I forgot just how awful jet lag is. It seems even worse than it was when I moved to Maine.

I didn't fall asleep until midnight, and I woke up every hour. Right now it's eight o'clock in the morning. I feel like I didn't get any sleep at all.

It's weird being in my room again. I've grown accustomed to the house in Maine, so it's almost like here is an unfamiliar yet familiar place. My room hasn't changed in the past few months that I've been gone, it's exactly the same. But it feels different.

This is the room I stayed in every day when I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. This is the room I locked myself in when I didn't want to face the world. This room holds a lot of really bad memories. It holds the old me, which is a person I don't want to think about right now.

I sleepily head to the kitchen to see if there's anything for breakfast. There's some cereal in the cabinet, so I pour myself a bowl. I sit down at the table alone to eat.

I sit in the seat I've sat in since I was a kid. My mom would always sit to the right of me. My dad always sat to the left. Calum would always sit across whenever he was over. I feel a weird sitting here all alone, like something is missing. My mom is missing.

I hear my dad walk slowly down the hall.

"Good morning, Luke," he says. He sits down at the table. He sits to the right of me. Not his spot.

"You used to always sit over here," I tell him, pointing to the chair.

"I did, didn't I? You remember that?" my dad says.

I nod and chew a spoonful of cereal.

"How did you sleep?" he asks.

"Really bad."

"Me too."

We sit in silence, with only the sound of me eating.

I clear my throat. "Can I visit Mom today?"

"Of course! We can leave in a few hours since it's still kind of early."

"Okay. Do you think we could get some flowers or something first? Her room was kinda boring and dull."

"I think she'd love that!"

"Do you wanna come too? Or just me?

"If you want to come, you can."

"I'll only go if you want me to."

I smile. Clearly neither of us can make a definite decision about this. "I'll go alone this time. Next time we can both go. I still wanna have some alone time with her, is that okay?"

"That's perfectly fine."

A few hours later, my dad and I are driving down the all-too-familiar route to the hospital. I could get there with my eyes closed if I really wanted to. At one point it was like a second home to me. But not the home that you're comfortable in. 

My dad drops me off at the front entrance of the hospital. I hesitantly stand outside the large glass doors, gripping onto the small bouquet of flowers. My dad gives me a thumbs up from the car and smiles. I wave and walk inside. He drives away.

A woman at the front desk greets me with a kind smile. It's almost like she knows why I'm here. Or maybe she gives the same expression to everyone that walks in here. I wonder if she really feels as sympathetic as she looks, or if it's an expression she's mastered while working here.

I make my way up to my mom's floor, but I don't take the elevator. I take the stairs so it takes some more time. I'm really nervous for some reason. I feel like I should think of things to talk about or ask her. I have so many questions, but I'm afraid to ask them. I'm not sure if I want to know the answers.

I'm up to the fourth floor when I stop walking and stand at the entrance to the section of the hospital. I reach for the knob of the door, even though this isn't my mom's floor.

This is, or actually, was, Delia's floor.

I slowly step out of the stairway and into the corridor. I watch a man getting pushed by a nurse in a wheelchair. An elderly lady is sitting on a chair in the hallway, staring at nothing. I don't think she's a patient, she's dressed up too nice. I wonder who she is here for. 

I walk through the hall, searching for Delia's room. I pass the waiting room I stayed in for hours on the night she died. I recognize the paintings on the walls that haven't been changed. And then I see it. Her room.

 Room 423.

The door is shut, just like it was when she was there. There's no name taped to the door, which leads me to believe that it's empty. There's still a giant scratch in the center of the door. I trace the scratch and drop my hand to my side.

I never saw Delia in this room. I tried. The doctors wouldn't let me.

"Just let me in," I plead. I try to look over the doctor's shoulder to see Delia, but I can't even catch a glimpse of her. The door is slightly open, but as soon as he notices me looking inside, he shuts it.

"I'm sorry, now is not a good time. Family only," he tells me.

"Please," I whisper, not looking the doctor in the eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Her doctor walks away without saying anything else. 

I look around, there's no one paying any attention to me. I reach for the door knob, wanting to see Delia. Just as I'm about to grasp it, the door opens and a nurse walks out, startling me.

"Sorry," I mutter, running away and heading back to the waiting room.

I lost my only chance to sneak into the room. I never saw her before she died.

"Can I help you find someone?" a nurse asks me, noticing me standing in the hall. She snaps me out of my flashback and it takes me a second to realize she's talking to me.

I almost say Delia's name without thinking. I shake my head. "No, I'm all set. Thanks." 

She smiles. I smile back. I still don't move, and neither does she. 

I swallow and clear my throat. "I'm actually on the wrong floor, I think," I tell her. I quickly turn around and leave, not looking back.

My heart is racing in my chest, which I didn't even notice until now. I take some deep breaths to calm myself down. I was so focused on Delia that I hadn't realized how nervous I had gotten.

Less than a year ago, I was standing inside there, right out front of that door. Delia was only a few feet away from me, separated by a wall that I couldn't break through. Being here feels like I'm being sucked back into all the memories. I can't get dragged back into the darkness of my thoughts.

But Delia is not the person in this hospital anymore. I'm not a patient in this hospital anymore. Now it's my mom. I am here for her, and her only. 

I sit on the stairs, pulling at the petals on one of the flowers in the bouquet subconsciously. 

I can handle being here. I am not going to let this happen every time I step foot into this hospital. I have overcome so much. I can't let this start breaking me down. 

I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.

After a minute or two, I can think straight again and breathe normally. I stand up and walk up the remaining two flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time.

The door to my mom's room is open, so I walk right in. She's in her bed, watching television. She smiles when she sees me. She looks less tired than yesterday.

"Hi, Mom," I say, putting the flowers beside her bed.

"You got these for me?" she asks.

"Of course!" 

She smiles and runs her fingers along the petals. The pink and yellow flowers are some of the only sources of color in her room.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, pulling a chair beside her bed.

"Not too bad today. Better now that you're here!" She smiles widely and reaches for my hand.

"Do you need anything?"

She shakes her head. "How are you doing?" she asks me.

"I'm... okay..." I never know what to say when people ask how I'm doing. Half the time I don't even know the answer.

She sighs. "What happened?"

I shrug. "It's just weird being back in Australia. And you're here. Nothing is really the same, I guess. Things just keep changing when I least expect it."

She frowns a little. "I know it's tough." She squeezes my hand gently.

I decide now is the time to ask all my questions. I can't go any longer not knowing what exactly is wrong with my mom. "Mom?"

"Yes, Luke?"

"Can someone actually tell me what's going on? I don't really have any clue what's wrong with you and what you've been going through. All I really know is that you have... you know..."

"Cancer."

"Right. And that's so broad of a spectrum that I don't really know what exactly you have."

"You can say the word cancer," she tells me, laughing a little. 

"I don't want to. It makes it more official. Like, maybe if I don't say it, you won't actually have it."

"So what would you like to know about it?"

"Everything."

She sighs. "I'm not sure where to start..."

"When did you find out?"

"I thought something was wrong in December. Then, when I came home from visiting you for Christmas, I got it checked out."

"And you didn't tell us?"

"I wanted to make sure I was okay first. I didn't want to worry you."

"Mom, I can handle this stuff now."

"I know, I'm sorry. 

When I asked for everything, I didn't actually think she'd tell me everything. But she did.

My mom explains that she has Stage 2 breast cancer. She has a tumor that has not spread to other parts of her body. The doctors told her she has a high chance of survival after treatment, which eases a lot of my worries. She'll have to have some chemotherapy, followed by a surgery to remove the tumor. After that, she should be okay. Knowing more about what she's going through makes me feel a lot better. I wish someone had explained things to me sooner.

My mom is still my mom. Her cancer isn't going to define her. It's just a piece of her right now. I guess it's kind of like me. My depression and anxiety doesn't define me. It's just something I have to deal with and push through. It's just a small piece of me. I am not my mental disorders, and my mom is not her disease.

She's going to get through this. I am going to continue to get better, too. We'll improve together. There will definitely be more bumps in the road, but I have hope.

Things are going to be all right.

Sorry for being so infrequent with updates. I really, really will try to go back to updating once a week!

I made a twitter just for RTF related stuff, it's RTFbook if you'd like to follow it to keep updated. :) of course my actual twitter will still have updates too.

love you.

-Ashley