Chapter 10 - I WANT MY GIRL BACK
Emily said it in therapy.
“Mom said she wanted me back.”
Claire felt the room tilt.
“When?”
“In the hospital.”
Emily had been half asleep after surgery.
Claire sat beside Margaret.
She cried:
“I just want my girl back.”
Claire meant:
alive,
awake,
home.
Emily heard:
the girl before.
Then every later:
“Do you remember?”
“You used to love this.”
“You always hated that.”
“You’re sounding more like yourself.”
became evidence that Claire was checking too.
Not with scores.
But still.
Claire covered her face.
“I’m sorry.”
Emily looked at her.
“You didn’t do the cards.”
“No.”
“But I made you wonder whether I thought there was a right version of you.”
Emily nodded.
Then Claire admitted:
yes, she missed parts.
Before cancer:
easy laughter.
School complaints.
Messy room.
Arguments about bedtime.
After:
appointments,
medications,
fear.
She wanted ordinary life back so badly that she sometimes wanted:
old Emily
as proof the nightmare was over.
That was not fair.
Then Emily asked:
“Am I different?”
Claire thought.
“Yes.”
Margaret inhaled sharply.
Claire continued:
“So am I.”
Emily looked up.
“So is Grandma.”
Margaret nodded.
“So is everybody.”
Illness changes families.
Age changes children.
Grief changes parents.
No one gets to freeze a ten-year-old in one version.
Then the therapist asked Margaret:
“What did you think if Emily’s favorite things changed?”
Margaret said:
“I thought the tumor had stolen them.”
“What if she simply outgrew them?”
“That possibility felt less urgent.”
Exactly.
Fear prefers medical explanations because they feel actionable.
Then Margaret said:
“I was trying to identify what was damage.”
Emily answered:
“I’m not damage.”
Margaret cried.
“No.”
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
Then the therapist asked Emily:
what if she does lose some memories?
Emily looked scared.
Then said:
“I can ask people.”
Yes.
Family memory can be shared.
But sharing should not become:
you must remember because we do.
Then Claire created a new family habit:
Do you want the story?
If Emily forgot something:
ask whether she wanted to hear.
Sometimes:
yes.
Sometimes:
no.
Sometimes:
later.
Then she used notes without shame.
A whiteboard for:
medications,
school tasks,
appointments.
Not because Emily was failing.
Because everyone uses tools.
Margaret initially wanted:
Emily to remember appointments herself.
Then stopped.
A calendar is not cheating.
Then Emily joined a beginner robotics club.
First session:
she was exhausted afterward.
Claire worried.
Margaret asked:
“Did she remember the instructions?”
Claire almost snapped.
Then realized Margaret was asking from habit.
Margaret corrected:
“Did she have fun?”
Better question.
Yes.
Then the next mystery came from Harold’s old rehab binder.
Claire found a list Margaret had written during his stroke recovery.
At the bottom:
THINGS HAROLD DOES DIFFERENT NOW THAT ARE STILL HAROLD.
May you like
Margaret had already learned this lesson once.
Why had she forgotten it?
