When I hung up, I didn’t pace or start fixing anything.
I called our daughter, Tilly.
She answered cheerfully.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Your father had skin cancer, Tilly.”
The silence told me before she did.
I called our daughter, Tilly.
“You knew.”
“Mom…”
“How long have you known about this?”
“I drove him to a follow-up a few weeks ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“How long have you known about this?”
“Dad asked me not to.”
“And you agreed?”
“I thought I was helping him. It was a huge scare, Mom. He’s fine now, but at the time we didn’t know that.”
“By helping him hide it from me?”
Her voice sharpened.
“Maybe ask why he thought he had to.”
“Dad asked me not to.”
That took my breath away.
Then she said, “Mom, you don’t let people be scared. You fix everything before they can even say what they’re afraid of.”
