For three months, Mia’s mom insisted she stay away while her house was being renovated. But something didn’t sit right. When Mia arrives unannounced, she finds the door unlocked, the house eerily pristine, and a strange smell in the air. Mia is about to stumble upon a devastating secret.
The city was just waking up as I drove through its empty streets. Early morning light painted everything in soft hues, but I couldn’t shake this gnawing feeling in my gut. Something was wrong.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. Mom’s voice echoed in my head as my memory replayed all those hurried phone calls and weird excuses. “Oh, honey, I can’t have you over. The house is a mess with all these renovations.”
But three months without seeing her? That wasn’t like us. We used to be thick as thieves, her and me.
I worried about what had changed as I waited at an intersection. Mom had always been house-proud, constantly tweaking and updating our home. But this felt different.
Her voice on the phone lately… she always sounded so tired. Sad, even. And every time I’d try to press her on it, she’d brush me off. “Don’t worry about me, Mia. How’s that big project at work going? Have you gotten that promotion yet?”
I knew she was keeping something from me, and I’d let it slide for far too long.
So here I was, way too early on a Saturday morning, driving across town because I couldn’t shake this feeling that something was terribly wrong.
As I pulled up to Mom’s house, my heart sank. The garden, usually Mom’s pride and joy, was overgrown and neglected. Weeds poked through the flower beds, and the rosebushes looked like they hadn’t seen pruning shears in months.
“What the hell?” I muttered. I killed the engine and rushed to the gate.
I walked up to the front door, my footsteps echoing in the quiet morning. When I tried the handle, it turned easily. Unlocked. That wasn’t like Mom at all.
Fear prickled across my skin as I stepped inside. There was no dust, or building materials in sight. No sign of a drop cloth or any paint cans either. And what was that smell? Sharp and citrusy. The place was too clean, too sterile. Like a hospital.
“Mom?” I called out.
My eyes swept the entryway, landing on a familiar photo on the side table. It was us at the beach when I was maybe seven or eight. I was grinning at the camera, gap-toothed and sunburned, while Mom hugged me from behind, laughing.
The glass was smudged with fingerprints, mostly over my face. That was weird. Mom was always wiping things down, keeping everything spotless. But this… it looked like someone had been touching the photo a lot, almost frantically.
A chill ran down my spine.
“Mom?” I called again, louder this time. “You here?”
That’s when I heard it. A faint creaking came from upstairs.
My heart raced as I climbed the stairs. The quiet felt heavy, pressing in on me from all sides. I tried to steady my breathing as I walked down the hallway toward Mom’s room.
“Mom?” My voice came out as a whisper now. “It’s me. It’s Mia.”
I pushed open her bedroom door, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
There she was, struggling to sit up in bed. But this… this couldn’t be my mother. The woman before me was frail and gaunt, her skin sallow against the white sheets. And her hair… oh God, her beautiful hair was gone, replaced by a scarf wrapped around her head.
“Mia?” Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
I stood frozen in the doorway, my mind refusing to process what I was seeing.
“Mom? What… what happened to you?”
She looked at me with those familiar brown eyes, now sunken in her pale face. “Oh, honey,” she sighed. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
I stumbled to her bedside, dropping to my knees. “Find out what? Mom, please, tell me what’s going on.”
She reached out a thin hand, and I clasped it in both of mine. It felt so fragile, like a bird’s bones.
“I have cancer, Mia,” she said softly.
Time stopped and my world narrowed down to how dry her lips looked as she spoke and the hollow feeling in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
“… undergoing chemotherapy for the past few months,” she finished.
“Cancer? But… but why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep this from me?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t want to burden you, sweetheart. You’ve been working so hard for that promotion. I thought… I thought I could handle this on my own.”
Anger flared up inside me, hot and sudden. “Handle it on your own? Mom, I’m your daughter! I should have been here! I should have known!”
“Mia, please,” she pleaded. “I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to see me like this, so weak and…”
“Protect me?” I cut her off, my voice rising as tears blurred my vision. “By lying to me? By keeping me away when you needed me most? How could you do that?”
Mom’s face crumpled, and she started to cry, too. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
I climbed onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle her too much, and pulled her into my arms.
“Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “You could never be a burden to me. Never.”
We sat there for a long time, just holding each other and crying. All the fear and pain of the past few months came pouring out.
When we finally calmed down, I helped Mom get more comfortable, propping her up with pillows. Then I went downstairs and made us both some tea, my mind reeling with everything I’d learned.
Back in her room, I perched on the edge of the bed, handing her a steaming mug. “So,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
And she did. She told me about the diagnosis, the shock, and the fear. How she’d started treatment right away, hoping to beat it before I even knew something was wrong.
“But it spread so fast,” she said, her voice trembling. “By the time I realized how bad it was, I was already so sick.”
I took her hand again, squeezing gently. “Mom, don’t you get it? I love you. All of you. Even the sick parts, even the scared parts. Especially those parts. That’s what family is for.”
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and regret. “I just… I’ve always been the strong one, you know? Your rock. I didn’t know how to be anything else.”
I smiled through my tears. “Well, now it’s my turn to be the rock. I’m not going anywhere, Mom. We’re in this together, okay?”
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay.”
I moved back in with Mom later that week. I also took time off work and called in every favor I could to get Mom the best care possible, even if all we could do was keep her as comfortable as possible.
We spent her final days together, sharing stories and memories, laughing and crying together. And when the end came, I was right there beside her.
“I’m sorry, Mia,” she whispered. “I wanted… I never took you to Disneyland… I promised to take you camping in the mountains… so many promises I’ve broken…”
“It’s not important.” I moved closer to her on the bed. “What matters is that you were always there for me when I needed you. You always knew how to make me smile when I was sad, or make everything better when I messed something up.” I sniffed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Mom.”
Her eyes cracked open, and she smiled faintly at me.
“You’re going to be okay, Mia. You’re so strong… my amazing daughter. I love you so much.”
I put my arms around her and hugged her as tightly as I dared. I’m not sure exactly when she slipped away, but when I eventually pulled back, Mom was gone.
I stayed there for a long time, trying to hold onto the warmth of our last hug as sobs racked my body, replaying her last words in my mind. Trying to keep her with me, no matter how impossible that was.
Saying goodbye to Mom was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I wouldn’t trade those moments I spent with her for anything in the world.
Because in the end, that’s what love is. It’s showing up, even when it’s hard. It’s being there, even in the darkest moments. It’s holding on tight and never letting go.
Mom was deeply emotional after her 3-year-old son lost his foot in a lawn mower accident, but he reassured her that everything would be okay.
After a lawnmower accident resulted in the amputation of his left foot, Keirsten Marsico’s little son Joey consoled her by telling her that everything will be alright.
“I was crying naturally when he came out of surgery that night, and he just held my head and said, ‘Mommy, what’s wrong?’” Marsico told PEOPLE his story. “I told him, buddy, I’m really sad.”
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Joey, who was only a few weeks away from turning four, was watching his grandfather Mark DeLuca mow the lawn outside their Whitehall, New York, home on Thursday, May 9, when he made a snap decision that put him in danger.
Keirsten talked about her “active little boy,” the youngest of her two children, saying that “he really loves tractors and enjoys helping with the lawn.” “He approached my dad, who was riding the lawnmower, from behind. My dad threw the mower in reverse before my mom could get to him, and everything happened all at once,” she remembered. “The events that led to what happened were a series of events.”
“It’s been tough on all of us, especially my parents who feel absolutely awful,” Keirsten continues. Specifically, my dad is distraught.
The family believes that Mark DeLuca’s quick use of a tourniquet probably saved Joey’s life. After being transported to Boston Children’s Hospital, Joey had many foot procedures before it was decided to amputate.
Despite the difficulties in his recuperation, Joey’s maturity and upbeat attitude have astounded his family and friends, as well as his caregivers and physicians.
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“What a strong little guy,” Keirsten says. At times, conversing with him is like to conversing with a teenager. He has excellent adjustment.
Joey’s father, Joseph, remarks, “He’s always been that way—very understanding, perceptive of people’s emotions, and adept at coping with situations.” Joseph is reflecting on his son’s exceptional maturity. In addition, he speaks a lot and has a vocabulary that is above average for his age.
The Marsicos, along with their autistic 6-year-old daughter Gianna, settled into a new routine during Joey’s almost month-long hospital stay.
“We tried to maintain a sense of normalcy for my daughter because she attends school,” Keirsten says. “My spouse and I decided that one of us should stay at home with her because she needs routine.”
Joseph stayed stubbornly by Joey’s side, while Keirsten stayed at home. “He’s still by Joey’s side,” Keirsten underlines.
Keirsten reflects on a touching incident by saying, “The other day, as I was leaving Joey, I was crying, and he consoled me again.” I told him it was okay and that I didn’t have to be sad as he wiped away my tears. “I know, but I don’t like leaving you,” I said to him.
The Marsicos take comfort in the knowledge that Joey’s accident was a terrible exception and in their Catholic faith.
“My worst fear is that people will hear this story and think, ‘Why weren’t they watching him?’ or ‘How could they let this happen?’” admits Keirsten, expressing her deepest concern. As his mother, I’ve struggled with it.
She does, however, take solace in her faith, thinking that Joey’s experiences have a greater meaning. “I have to constantly tell myself that everything is happening for a reason. Even if we can’t see it now, God has a plan for him, Keirsten says.
She says, “I would tell someone else it’s an accident if they were in our shoes.” “Accidents happen, and focusing on ‘why’ won’t help—it will only make you feel bad about yourself.”
Keirsten highlights how resilient their family has been in the face of hardship. “We must change and get over what is going on. Our priorities are helping Joey and continuing to be a solid family unit.
After being away from home for almost a month following the accident, Joey was released from the hospital on June 5. Earlier last week, he had his fourth birthday celebration.
His parents are hopeful that he will heal and that he will soon get a prosthetic fitted. They are in awe of Joey’s capacity to communicate his emotions and offer consolation to others during this trying time.
Warmly, Joseph says, “He’s always been such a special little boy.”
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