My 17-year-old son shaved off all his hair for his girlfriend who was battling cancer — the next day, her mother called and said, “You need to come to the hospital and see what your son did.”
My son, Tobin, had always been the kind of boy who noticed when someone was hurting.
He did well in school, played soccer, and stayed out of trouble. When a new student ate alone, Tobin sat beside him. When our elderly neighbor injured her ankle, he started carrying her groceries without being asked.
Then he began dating Linnea, the daughter of my closest friend, Eileen.
Eileen and I had known each other since our children were small. We had watched them grow up through school concerts, birthday parties, and summer cookouts. So when Tobin and Linnea started holding hands, we pretended not to notice until they left the room. Then we smiled like two excited teenagers.
They were happy together. Tobin carried Linnea’s books, and she always saved him the last piece of dessert. They argued about movies, talked about college, and planned a road trip after graduation.
Then Linnea started getting tired.
At first, everyone blamed school. But soon, bruises appeared on her arms and legs. One morning, she nearly fainted in class.
A few days later, Eileen called me from a hospital parking lot.
“Mavis,” she said, then fell silent.
I could hear her trying to breathe.
“What did the doctor say?”
When she finally answered, her voice was almost gone.
“Cancer.”
Linnea was only sixteen.
One week, she was complaining about homework and asking permission to attend a concert. The next, doctors were explaining treatment schedules, side effects, and test results.
Tobin sat at our kitchen table that night, staring at a glass of water.
“Is she going to die?” he asked.
I wanted to tell him no, but Eileen had not been given promises.
