As Taylor began rehabilitation for cancer, simultaneously, Kindin began a friendship with a schoolmate who ended up being her sister. On intake, Taylor's mother and I realized that our daughters were building a friendship and awkwardly navigated confidentiality. As months passed, their bond became stronger and our treatment team saw a very poor prognosis for Taylor. It was incredibly difficult to play a double role in their lives during this time. Brooklyn never mentioned it, Taylor wouldn't leave the home in a wheelchair, and her mother forged ahead looking more and more tired every day. They refused counseling and typically refused to talk about it at all. (Except the one occasion in which her mother broke down in my office and acknowledged that she knew her daughter wasn't going to beat this but never whispered words like that again.) I felt like a failure as the treatment team asked for my guidance about how to encourage this hopeful teenager to rest and enjoy what she had left of life but I didn't have the answer. I empathized with hope and waited for an opening to refer them to hospice who were the real experts in navigating final days but they simply weren't ready. I wished to help them see the value of one last family vacation but saw a family exhausted and pushing until the end. There were many days at work that I felt like a failure. I also felt like a failure when her sister was in my home but uttering nothing.
Kindin and I attended Taylor's funeral and I began crying even before the funeral began and found myself unable to stop all throughout. I felt as though I'd failed them while sitting next to my own, healthy daughter. I watched as Taylor's father buried his head throughout the service and wondered how this might change him forever. I felt a burden to take care of a sister who was now an only child and wondered how to talk to this mother who had gritted her teeth and kept it in for all these months. But there was laughter too. Apparently, Taylor was a big fan of bodily functions and often peed herself - long before her diagnosis precluded her to such. Her peers and parents related these stories and laughter filled the audience. Kindin and I talked considerably about those funny moments afterwards and Kindin emphasized my own issues and need for Kegels. It was a wonderful, cathartic release after a long few months.
A few days after the service, I happened to be on a step cleaning the mirrors and bathroom lights while chatting with Kindin. Suddenly, I missed the step down and ended up falling from countertop height - causing a waterfall leakage from my pants. There was a puddle of pee on the floor and Kindin optimistically questioned if it was cleaning solution. We died of laughter as I showed her the stain on my pants and verified the yellow pool on the floor. I thought about Taylor and her momma in that moment and how her legacy connects Kindin and I.
