My Daughter’s Classmates Held Prom in Her Hospital Room Because She Couldn’t Attend Due to Her Illness – Then One of Them Handed Me an Envelope and Said, ‘Here’s the Real Reason We’re Here’
“He’s just being Daryl.”
I smiled and squeezed her foot through the blanket. “He’s a good one.”
“Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Carol’s eyes drifted to the window. Prom was four days away.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Do you think I’ll get to go?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, of course. The doctors were optimistic, anything to fill the silence with hope. I’d decided that was my job. Hope was the one thing I could still hand her.
“Do you think I’ll get to go?”
“You’re going to that prom, my baby. One way or another,” I lied, giving her and myself false hope.
Carol looked at me for a long moment, and something passed behind her eyes that I couldn’t quite read. Then she nodded and reached for my hand.
My heart broke every time I watched her grow weaker after each round of chemotherapy.
That night, after she fell asleep, I noticed she’d tucked another folded letter into the back of her journal.
My heart broke every time I watched her.
***
Two days before prom, another round of chemotherapy made Carol feel even worse.
I drove her back to the hospital with shaking hands while she rested her cheek against the cool window. She didn’t say much; she didn’t have to.
My daughter was admitted for the night, then the next, then indefinitely.
“I won’t make it, will I, Mom?” Carol whispered from the bed.
I sat beside her and smoothed her thin hair back from her forehead.
“You’re going to make it to plenty of proms, baby. This is just a delay.”
She turned her face toward the wall.
I drove her back to the hospital.
***
The following evening, I was rinsing out Carol’s water cup at the little sink in her room when Nurse Jenny appeared in the doorway with a strange look on her face.
“Linda, honey,” she said. “Can you step into the hallway for a second? Just for a minute.”
I dried my hands and followed her out, assuming it was paperwork or worse.
I stepped through the door and froze.
“Can you step into the hallway for a second?”
The hallway was full of teenagers!
Boys in rented suits with crooked ties. Girls in long dresses with sneakers peeking out from underneath.
They were holding pizza boxes, foil pans, a stack of plastic cups, and Mylar balloons in soft pink and silver. One girl, Megan, clutched a pitcher of lemonade against her chest as if it were something holy.
