I Ain't Kevin Hart but Laugh at My Pain--Maeve

Oh, cancer. You b...beauty. Please, feel free to laugh at my pain.

17 years in the making and I am exquisitely positive that no matter what has
happened, and let me tell you, some crazy stuff has happened, there were problems, but everything was all good. Back in the day, immigrating from Canada to California, living in a two-bedroom apartment stuck on food stamps and in-and-out of the Pomona Swap Meet. To finally getting our own house on Decoy Lane in Fontana. Then, losing that house a mere year or two after in 2008 due to that grand old recession. After that, altering living with different aunts and uncles until we landed a condominium on East Avenue in Rancho Cucamonga. Oh, then losing my house in 2013 and being legally homeless from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Back to, finally, securing another condominium in that same complex. For the duration of most of my life, everything had happened there. My cousin drifting off in 2006 due to a fatal car accident. My grandmother flying away in 2011 due to my good old friend ovarian cancer. To, my uncle bidding adieu in 2015 from a heart attack. Through all this, I always had my family, always. 

It wasn’t until late 2018, I felt like Whitney Houston, I felt as if I had absolutely nothing. My two favorite people in the world left me forever, and they didn’t even get a

say. My previous caretaker and favorite uncle, Nazaire Domond, was diagnosed with lung cancer, three years ago on his birthday. Simultaneously, my godmother and one of my favorite aunts, Rita Domond, was diagnosed with breast cancer, about two years before my uncle. Throughout these five years, I watched an independent woman and strong man fall helplessly weak to a disease they didn’t ask for, yet their bodies felt the need to punish them for. They never ever did drugs, lead very healthy and organic lifestyles, and they even established their own gardens. After senior year started, the changes did too, slowly yet frustratingly quick. Following my birthday in September, my family was in a mess. My uncle was reported driving up to Big Bear and was claimed to have lost his memory and not have known where he was, even though he had a job scheduled up there. Shortly after, his rescuer called the ambulance and rushed him to a hospital where he was admitted and remained for no more than a week. At the same time, my aunt had returned from her healing trip to Haiti, shortly after, she was also admitted to a hospital. Unlike my uncle, my aunt remained at City of Hope. When my uncle came out, it was slow but almost as if he was transforming into a different person. Overtime, his muscles began to deteriorate and he began to lose the ability to swallow, eat, speak properly, make eye contact, and support his body weight. It was so sad to see a man almost six foot become skinnier than my 115 pound self. My aunt remained in the hospital, and I found no time to visit her throughout the week out of fear and sheer ignorance of the intensity of the situation, I postponed my weekend visits to the following weekends. Finally, I brought myself to visit my aunt one faithful sunday and during my entire visit she could not open her eyes and refused to eat her disgraceful and

tasteless hospital food. Days after my visit, my mom told me that she did not remember my visit and that I was running out of time and had to see her on the weekend. At this point, I knew but I didn’t want to. On October 19th, my aunt passed away. I found out the day later, my mom wanted to protect me from the news thinking I would break. I did but not in the way she expected. I became angry with her and my sister for thinking they could decide what I get to know or don’t, I became angry that people felt that I was weak. Worst, I became angry because I felt that I was weak, that I didn’t take advantage of every opportunity given to me. That month, despite prior deaths in my family, I attended my first funeral. I was broken but very numb. I only told four friends. I never let people know why I was gone or “busy” because I didn’t want looks of pity and people to perceive me as weak. I got so used to the changes. I’ve faced it, my life is crazy. While she was departing, my uncle was in-and-out of San Antonio Medical Hospital and his children, my closest cousins and prior roommates, Darren and Meghann, began living with us, again. Darren slept out in our loft, and Meghann and I shared a bed for almost three weeks. He finally was sent home, but not released, he was now in hospice. If you don’t know, hospice is “care that focuses on the palliation of a chronically ill, terminally ill or seriously ill patient's pain and symptoms.” Another one of my close cousins shared with me, “When you go into hospice, the chances of you coming out are slim to none.” We never let his kids know the details, but everyday after school instead of rushing to finish my AP Stats homework I went to Utah Court to see my second ‘papa.’ The man who let me live with him for a whole year in 2008 when our house was demanded back by the bank. The man who even when he was sick and his license was revoked by the

judge because of his medical condition, went behind the law and my parents’ back to drop me off at home because no one would be able to get me in time and he didn’t want me to wait. One random sunday, after church and our routine family get-togethers, we took the kids home to visit ‘papa’ like every other day. Meghann and I sang his favorite songs to him, P.Y.T. by Michael Jackson, Grenade by Bruno Mars, and Yellow by Coldplay. He couldn’t speak at this point, he was probably as skinny as my twelve year old brother, and was developing supposed tumors and lumps in the brain. He would use all his strength to squeeze your hand or try to force a sound out of his throat. Even though his eyes were shifting in different directions and couldn’t meet mine, he knew it was me when I approached and responded the best he could. My aunt told me he enjoyed my humor and didn’t care for pity; so, I told him the most outrageous stories at school. He loved hearing the drama, he just hated the one his life was in. After singing and talking to him, I began hanging with my siblings and his kids until we were called to speak to him because night was approaching. I remember we all stopped immediately, got up, and met familiar solemn faces in the living room. We watched as they attempted to move my uncle, from my mom’s recliner that we allowed him to ‘borrow’ and into his hospital bed. He was grunting out in pain and shortly after we said goodnight and doing our routine personalized handshakes with him, despite him not having the strength to do it back, he was placed on his hospital bed. One of my aunts who is a R.N. checked his pulse and vitals, she spoke out and in the most calm voice said, “Tatie, There’s no pulse.” (Creole to English Translation: Aunt). I remember being so calm yet panicked that night. My sister was mentally raging yet successfully remaining surprisingly calm and

Darren, my brother, and I seemed to be calm. My mom told me to take the kids and my sibling back home, immediately. The damage was done, on November 12 we saw ‘papa’ die. When we got back home, Meghann went straight to doing her freshman Honors English homework, Darren began playing soccer games with my brother, my sister was busy handling business, making calls, and all I could do was stress clean my room for the first time in what felt like forever to alleviate the pain. The funeral happened during Thanksgiving break and we didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving all together for the first time ever this past year. 

Like Biggie, I couldn’t help thinking it was all a dream. It almost seemed ridiculous to any outsiders, my father has sixteen siblings and my mother has eight and even with all of them in my extended family, I was obsessed with the absence of two. I learned that love is something that should always be shared because you never know when you won’t see the people you love most. It may be cliche but live like tomorrow doesn’t exist, because it’s not promised to any of us. It’s okay to just hold on for today and right now. Even though they are not physically present, my heart continues to beat for them. Live with no regrets because you never want to feel like me, like you didn’t do everything you could to share your love with them. I learned that I want to live my life with purpose, so even if I die tomorrow, or you, God forbid, people know that I was here and I lived to love. Don’t save your love, share your love, because all good things come to an end. 

P.S. Please feel free to come to me with any stories, comments, questions. Trust me, I’m pretty much an open book. Thank you for reading! God bless. 

Yours Truly, Maeve-Darly Domond