Mine.

Eight: Memory Lane.

Cimani.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek as my finger tips tapped impatiently on the side of the plush office chair. It had been a week since my father was diagnosed with dementia and to say I was drained was an understatement. We knew we had a long road ahead of us but the reality of it was too much to bare.

I sat across from my mother, and beside my sister in the waiting area of Maple Pointe Senior Living. I could see that my mother was tense—Chloè on the other hand, her face was set solid. No emotion shown, her shoulders relaxed but her right leg bounced a little.

Grabbing her hand, I squeezed gently. She looked over at me, a single tear falling from her eye. I grabbed the side of her face and placed a kiss on her forehead. She sniffled before placing her head on my shoulder, I placed my head on top of hers.

My baby was trying to hide her pain, I know she was hurting because I was too. Nothing could've prepared any of us for what happened just a few minutes earlier.

"Ma, what room and floor is it again?" I asked my mother as Chloè and I entered the assisted living facility. The cream marbled floors matched the entire interior design of the lobby. The white chandeliers that hung from the tray ceilings never ceased to amaze me.

I was just glad my mother chose somewhere nice and homey enough since my father would be spending most of his time here. My mother was allowed to take him places, and he was able to go home when he wanted—but since my mother and I worked the facility was the best option to at least keep an eye on him during the day.

"422."

The elevator ride to my dad's room was silent. Chloè and I held hands but we didn't even have to say anything. We were both trying to prepare ourselves because this would never get easier.

Making our way to the room my eyes couldn't help but wander around the facility. It was beautifully decorated and each patients room looked a hotel room damn near. My heart fluttered at the old couples that were either visiting a loved one or admitted.

Love like that was rare, in this generation most relationships don't make it past 10 years. The second someone's spouse/partner gets sick, or unable their companion is running for the hills. Trying to find a replacement, or just genuinely not ready to be with someone and their 'burden.' Which was beyond me because sickness was out of everyone's control and it could happen to anyone.

I've seen it firsthand, at the ripe age of 18 one of my closest friends, Chyna had been diagnosed with Osteosarcoma: a rare bone disease. It took her months to get diagnosed, causing the cancer to spread. She fought a good fight, but at the ripe age of 20, she succumbed to her sickness and passed away.

Her boyfriend at the time: Jordan, a 22 year old man dating an 18 year old, left her. Right when she was diagnosed, he faked it for a week or two and straight up left her. Said he didn't know whether or not he wanted to 'deal with that.' From the outside looking in, they were the perfect couple. But me, an insider knew that was far from the truth.

He was heavy in the streets, an only child. Was a rising athlete but once his mother made the decision to move from Queens to Brooklyn, he took the wrong route. Once he got into a gang, his mother kicked him out resulting in him moving in with Chyna.

The sad part about it is, Chyna was homeless also. This was all before her cancer diagnosis but, her parents were trash and she stayed with a close friend. That close friend being me. I had my own apartment since I was 18, so when Chyna told me she needed a place to stay I didn't hesitate.