I walk into my son's room as I do everyday.
He looks to me a smile brightening his eyes.
I ask how his day was and his smile ever brightens as he slides off his bed.

As he disappears for a moment,
I look around his clean, white room, the window showing the city below.
The never-ending beep, reminding me of the pain within him.

He comes back up, his small, blue suitcase in his arms. The smile still upon his face.

"What are you doing, my son?" I ask

His bright hazel eyes, looking into mine,
his smile still there.

"I'm going home mom!" He says with cheer.

My smile falters a moment, as I gaze upon my baby.

"What do you mean?"

"They said I'm going home soon!"

I go numb.
Just for a moment.
Then I feel his small hands grab ahold of my arm.

"I get to go home today!"

Then I feel anger.
But not towards him.

What kind of monster would tell a child with stage four cancer they can go home?

"I'm sorry, son. but You can't go home." My voice breaks.

"Don't be silly mom, I sure can!" His smile still there.

"No you can't, my son. As much as I want you there...you just can't." I say, embracing him tightly.

"Who told you this?" I look him in the eye. "Just wait here, baby. I'll be back soon."

I get up from the bed, looking out the door.
But my little boy grabs my hand.

"Mom, they didn't tell me." He says, his smile gone. We sit back down.

"Then who told you?" I demand. His smile returns.

He lies back down, his face less bright now. And with the most certainty I've ever heard from him, he closes his eyes.

"I'm going home mom. I'll wait there for you."


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