“Sure, you can watch movies now,” I told the girls at bedtime, “if you mute the sound and use captions.” I lingered for a moment behind the black leather sofa on which they reclined, my heart lifting slightly with the fragrant steam that rose from the open bag of popcorn between them. All around the upstairs parlor, doors were closed. No ribbons of light peered from beneath them, no voices came through, but our instructions for tomorrow were that Chloe appear, sleep deprived, for an EEG.
What is your daughter’s illness? the weekend manager had asked this afternoon, as she and I had sat on either side of a small table in her office.
I had stopped short at her question, staring at the empty black line on the paper between us, and the muscles in my chest had grown tight.
I don’t know, I had answered, my voice strained.
We came to find out. Now I yawned, stretching my arms luxuriously outward. I doubted Lauriana knew how grateful I was that she had volunteered to sit up with her sister. I was grateful, too, that our new Home let me feel safe, let the girls pretend their task was a weekend adventure.
I turned and walked down the hall toward our room, a pleasant weariness drifting through me, easing my shoulders, easing my thoughts. But I lifted my head, when a rhythmic murmur drifted through the silence, a female voice, low in volume, but clear and intense.
I rounded a bend and neared the cozy sitting area across from the kitchen; a girl about Chloe’s age sat alone in a black recliner. The girl leaned forward slightly, a laptop balanced on her crossed legs, a microphone held close to her lips. I could not identify the elegant language with which she spoke so passionately to a companion, someone close to her, I thought, but someone half a world away. I smiled as I glimpsed the girl’s pretty face, her intense expression, the gray stocking cap that crowned her head. In spite of her concentration, she looked up at me through her dark-rimmed glasses. When she returned my smile, her own was warm and full.
The same girl was my first sight as I entered the kitchen for my first breakfast at the House. She stood near the milk dispenser in the same gray cap, leaning against the counter, her arms crossed comfortably before her as she listened to Peter. He was turned toward a blond-haired woman with gentle eyes, who stood between him and the girl. The girl lifted her eyes, and she smiled in recognition as I approached; she was taller than me, beautiful and confident.
Peter turned, and his own face brightened, too. “Lena, this is my wife, Jenifer,” he said, and Lena smiled warmly, taking my hand in both of hers. “Lena and her daughter, Agni, are here from Athens,” Peter told me, checking and rechecking his pronunciation of Agni’s name, until the girl nodded her approval.
We circled closely in the morning chill and began to trade stories. “Unfortunately, Agni will have to take exams, when she returns,” Lena explained, when the conversation turned to our daughters’ schooling. “She must study now, without help from her teachers, and be prepared for her exams next June. Otherwise, she will not graduate.” Lena’s accent was lyrical and sweet, but her tone was wistful, and I dared not ask about the thinly veiled sorrow in her eyes.
Two more families came into the kitchen through the double doors behind me. One mother seated her two small children at a table on the far end of the room; the other led her son into the pantry. Lena told us about Agni’s gynecological oncologist, a young woman whom Agni liked, but her mother did not. “She and Agni get along very well,” Lena said with a small, forced smile. “For her, it is very nice. For me, it is a little bit more difficult. I do not think her doctor likes me very much, but maybe it’s not so important.” Lena looked into my eyes for a moment, then dropped her gaze.
“Lena is an ophthalmologist,” Peter told me, one hand resting on the counter, and he kept his tone cheerful.
“Yes,” Lena answered quickly, looking up again. “I specialize in glaucoma.” She paused, frowning a bit, and added, “It doesn’t help here, to be a medical doctor. No one cares. I am just a mother, like everyone else, nothing more.”
That was another life, she would tell me later, when I would ask about her practice during an evening visit to their upstairs apartment. Lena and I would sit apart from the others, and she would look sadly into the distance and explain,
It is very far away now.
“Hello!” Lauriana’s cheery voice entered the circle from behind me, and we stepped back to let her in. Her bold grin and friendly tone brought a fresh smile to Agni, to Lena, and I let her take the lead. “What kind of cereal do they have in the pantry?” she asked shortly, and I went with her to explore.
Η Stephanie ζει στην Αμερική κι εγώ στην Ελλάδα. Είμαστε μακριά η μία απ' την άλλη, αλλά οι καρδιές μας τόσο κοντά... Τη σέβομαι και τη νοιάζομαι, αισθάνομαι δεμένη μαζί της. Συμπαρασταθήκαμε στα παιδιά μας, τον Gabe και την Αγνή, στην μάχη τους ενάντια στον καρκίνο κατά την διάρκεια της διαμονής μας στο Ronald McDonald House στο Rochester της Minessota. Την θυμάμαι να κάθεται αργά το βράδυ στη κουζίνα και να γράφει στον υπολογιστή, ενόσω ο Gabe κοιμότανε στο δωμάτιό τους. Ήταν εκείνη που μου υπέδειξε την ύπαρξη των Care Pages στο διαδίκτυο.
Ο Σεπτέμβρης σε θυμίζει πολύ Αγνή μου. Ηταν ο μήνας των γενεθλίων σου, τώρα θα γινόσουν 20 χρονών, σε σκέφτομαι ακαταμάχητη, να έχεις χωρέσει πολλά στη ζωή σου και να ασχολείσαι με ποικίλα θέματα, μαμά θέλω να σπουδάσω κάτι που να μου αφήνει χρόνο να κάνω κι άλλα πράματα..θυμάμαι τα μαθήματα Ισπανικών που θα τ' αρχίζαμε μαζί, την κεραμική με την αγορά φούρνου, τις χάντρες που θα φτιάχναμε κοσμήματα, την εγγραφή μας στην πισίνα του Δήμου Χαλανδρίου, τον εθελοντισμό στη Φλόγα και στο Χαμόγελο του Παιδιού, τους άστεγους του Δήμου Αθηναίων, το ταξίδι στην Αφρική με προσφορά στα παιδάκια που υποφέρουν- ένα όνειρο που θα μας χωρούσε και τις δυό μας.. Οργανωτική και μεθοδική καθώς είσουν, ο Σεπτέμβρης ήταν ο μήνας να βάζεις τα σχέδιά σου σε πρόγραμμα υλοποίησης. Το ήξερες πόσο σε καμάρωνα και με θεωρούσες υπερβολική, εμένα που έπαιρνα ζωή από σένα.. Γεννήθηκες την ίδια μέρα με την Παναγία, είχες την ομορφιά και την σοφία της Μέρας.. Σεπτέμβρη άρχισες και τη πρώτη σου χημειοθεραπεία, τη πρώτη από τις πολλές που έκανες για να κερδίσεις κάτι που ήταν αυτονόητο για την ηλικία σου: τη Ζωή, την ίδια εποχή που οι φίλοι κι οι συμμαθητές σου άρχιζαν την τελευταία τάξη του Λυκείου και περνούσαν στη τελευταία ευθεία της προετοιμασίας γις τις εισαγωγικές, τόσο κόπο και συνειδητή πορεία και διπλώματα για τη Ζωή που θα είχες μετά, όταν θα μεγάλωνες, γιατί μούφυγες Αγνή μου, γιατί δε μου μεγάλωσες μάτια μου, γιατί, ποιός άντεξε και σε πήρε από τη Ζωή αυτή που μόνο καλά κι όμορφα πράματα θα έκανες.. Τόσο άδικο, τόση μοναξιά, τόση απόγνωση, πόσος πόνος.,, 
Απόψε ονειρεύτηκα 
ΣΑΒΒΑΤΟ, 16 ΙΑΝΟΥΑΡΙΟΥ 2010
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