I remember he would take forever in the bathroom. Some nights I placed myself at the dinner table, and there were four of my mother's favorite placemats set out, but only three people occupied the chairs behind them. The same went for the majority of my mornings. I would go the whole morning without seeing him. As I would stroll down the hallway towards the front door to go to school, I'd pass the bathroom. As he would cough, spit, and gag, my heart would sink into my chest. If anyone else had heard him, they would think he was about to die. You'd think I'd get used to it, but there was not one morning or night when heard him in the bathroom that tears didn't tempt to roll down my cheek. The memory of when I first found out is still clear as day to me. My parents were downstairs painting my room. They wouldn't let me help because I was too short. I also wasn't sure of what the correct way to paint was. Last time my carpet resembled a tie dye shirt because of all the paint I had spilled on the floor. I pranced down the hallway through the door frame leading into my room. I glanced around to see the majority of my walls finished in a turquoise color. My eyes made their way to my fourth wall where my parents were talking. They reduced their conversation to whispers, and then the whispering stopped too. They were supposed to be painting that wall green. But they weren't painting at all. As I scanned the room I noticed that there were no paintbrushes anywhere, nor any cans of paint. Something was off. They were being affectionate. I didn't understand because my parents weren't the type to show affection. It wasn't the cute, in-love type of affection. It was the kind where they looked like they were never going to see each other again. My mom's eyes were watery and I knew she had no allergies at that time of the year. I could smell the sadness in the air. I couldn't take it anymore; I am someone who hates not knowing things. I had to ask. “Why do you guys keep hugging each other?” I questioned. They glanced at each other and then at me. My mother was speechless. It was like she didn't know what to say. She couldn't form her thoughts into words. “Honey,” she paused, “your dad went to the doctor the other week, and we got the test results back today.” “And..?” I enquired. So many thoughts were racing through my head. I had no idea what she was about to say. But I could think of so many things she could say that would change everything. Her eyes flooded with water causing a tear to fall over the edge and roll down her cheek. “The test results showed that your dad has stage 3 cancer.” My mouth gaped open as my eyes became glossy. I couldn't fathom the words that had just come out of her mouth. I was trying to stay strong. But I was scared. I had never had to deal with something like this before. I feared the unknown, and everything about this screamed unknown. So many thoughts went racing through my mind. The one thought I couldn't shake was if he was going to die. “Is he going to be okay?” “We don't know much right now. But your dad is strong and we will get through this together, as a family,” she comforted.