Can We Rewrite The Stars?

When she was five, she was throwing coins in a wishing well. At twenty-five, she never missed a shooting star. Harold stared at his daughter; Rebecca was smiling and laughing with her friends. He smiled; she always found a way to make her dreams come true. He sighed; that was about to tested.

For the last few years, he had kept his medical history a mystery to her; he refused to burden her with the effects of stage-four lung cancer. Thankfully, his insurance covered most of it; he was far from being homeless, such as Mr. Hawser, whose resources had been exhausted even before he had completed a full season. Long ago, he had decided that if you keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow; he sighed as he realized that decision did not keep out every shadow.

However, his grace was almost up. While he had lived a couple of years longer than the doctors had predicted, his time was running out. He had been given maybe another six years, and that meant that the time for mysteries was over. He would need to tell Rebecca, and soon. She would no doubt try to save him, but it would be nought; it was that eventual failure that kept him from telling. Sure, parents should die before their children, but he was unsure the effect his short expiration date would have on her.

He didn’t know he was strong until after he hit the first milestone: His first expiration date. There is no greater mystery than the love of a woman: The reason she fell in love with you, why she said “yes” and “I do”, the reason one would stick by him no matter how sick he became; she was his strength. He smiled; as he crossed more milestones, that strength merely multiplied. He had finally reached harmony with his disease, and he who lives in with himself lives in harmony with the universe.

He had lived past the denial that he was going to die. Then the anger of how unfair it was that he was going to die before he could see his daughter’s wedding. There was, of course, bargaining, but almost losing his job due to the cancer and the insurance cost for it quickly showed him that there were bigger things to worry about.

Sure, he had been depressed, who wouldn’t?, but he was sort of proud that he had never contemplated removing himself from the picture; he just wasn’t built that way. While he had debated its merits, sure, it was never considered more than on an academic level, even considering the most dramatic way to die (burning to death as a political statement) to the least painful (painkillers and whiskey in the sauna). But he had survived all that and finally accepted his new status.

The mystery of her love deepened the moment he discovered that she had been dealing with the bills. Before the cancer, he had taken care of the bills, even using a spreadsheet to make sure everything was taken care of. But as the chemo forced him to take things easier, he had stopped dealing with the bills: Dealing with work, dealing with the chemo, dealing with HR, all drained him and he let the bills go. But Glory, his glorious wife, had stepped up and dealt with paperwork.

He had decided that the moment the sky changed, when the shooting stars stopped, he would take Rebecca aside and tell her. There would never be a right time, and at least her friends could provide the necessary support. He hated springing this on her, the same girl who had taken clay statues of a cat and a squirrel and placed them around a gnome-sized, and looked up at him like they belonged there, but he had no choice. He steeled himself for the moment.

Eventually, the shower of shooting stars stopped and she walked over to her father, giggling almost the entire way. She stopped just a few steps from her father, stopped giggling, and walked slowly to hug her father. He looked at her, and asked, “What did you wish for?”

She smiled. “I wish Mom would come to the phone.” She sighed deeply. “I needed to warn her about the after-party, but we’re headed to Nick’s.” She looked her father up and down. “You okay?”

He rifled her hair, smiled at her. Remembered when he could hold her in his arms; those days were long gone. “I’m fine.” He held her hand. “Don’t ever lose sight of your dreams; carry them with you wherever you go.” Yeah, I’m such a coward.

She kissed on the forehead. “I always will.” She ran back to her friends.

He turned and walked to his car. He pulled out his phone. “Yeah, you were right; let’s do this as a brunch.” He put the phone away and soon left the park to those who could better appreciate it.