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Today was so sunny and breezy. Perfect really. My last perfect moment. Sitting with Leslie at a burger joint in Little Five Points (Atlanta, if I can’t remember later). She’s showing me her wedding pictures. I was thinking it was funny that the photographer captured her veil blowing this way and that, while we chose to sit outside where the breeze kept blowing our hair in our face. I was thinking about how perfect it all was. Leslie and Paul were finally married. So happy. I am six months pregnant and have never felt so peaceful in all my life. We’re jokingly calling her “Flavia”—because we can’t agree on a name.

My cell phone rang this afternoon. I saw it was Will, but let it go to voice mail. The burgers had just arrived and I was starved. Now I’m avoiding the truth of what happened next because I’m still numb from the news. I want to be telling someone else’s story.

When I got in the car, I checked the message. Will sounded so scared. “I just came from the oral surgeon. It’s cancer.” I can still hear the short breath he took in and then a sob. “It’s cancer.” I kept saying over and over, it’s going to be alright. We’re going to be fine. I’m coming home. Have you ever felt yourself outside your body? I felt so removed, but so scared. I can still feel my hands tighten on the leather steering wheel. My head was going numb. My fingers wound around the wheel. I felt like it was about to break off. This can’t happen. This will be fine. We just get over this. We’re having a baby. He’s going to be fine. I pulled up the driveway and he ran towards me and I just hugged and held him on the back patio.

They say more than a million people share this exact moment every year. Half of them will die. He can’t die. He’s got to be a father. He can’t die. This can’t be such a big deal. I called Sanjay at work. He’s a brain surgeon at Emory. Our appointment with the head and neck surgeon isn’t for another WEEK. Can’t live without answers. Must push.