The Streets

Chapter 3: Cancer

I was at age 15 when the bomb dropped. One word, that took everything away. Cancer.

My father was diagnosed with leukaemia at 51 years old and the treatment needed money. And lots of money... More money than we have probably ever had.
And my father didn't want to get treatment anyway. He wished for the cancer to take it's course for God wanted this to happen. I was screaming inside and out for him to get the treatment. He couldn't die. I didn't want him to die. But, with me watching over him, his life came to a stop, leaving me and my mother alone, with no one for support. No one left...
In his last few days he was cheerful, just as ever, yet it seemed like a facade. He knew that his time was almost up, and his fear was visible deep into his eyes. I had brought in my guitar every other day to play some peaceful tunes to help him relax and maybe even impress him before the grace period ended and the storm began. His eyes seemed to widen when he heard my music and a brilliant smile would appear upon his frail face. The songs that I played him, I can still remember to this day. I will never forget them. They were my fathers tunes, and they were only to be played in memory of his sacred soul. I loved him. I loved hm so much, but sometimes, God decides to test us. Not everything can be perfect forever- there will always be new challenges to face. That explains how my life had turned course in such a quick instance. From a loving home to a concrete floor to sleep. Although, in my life, God seems to test me more than most others. After my fathers tragic death, my mother couldn't handle the loneliness. She needed him back in her life, for now she had no one...
And thus, when I woke up one morning, around a month after the 'event', I woke to a body hanging from the ceiling. The body of my mother; the mother who left the earth to rejoin my deserved father. And there, with no one in the entire world, was a fifteen year old child, left in a house of spirits...