The Day We Returned—This Time by Choice
A year later, we went back to the oncology ward—not as patients, but as visitors. We carried a basket of soft caps and copies of our photo. Mom knocked on doors, always asking first. She didn’t tell anyone how to be brave. She listened, laughed, and made the machines sound like percussion. When people asked who I was, I said, “I’m the kid who shaved his head.” It was the first time I could say it without my voice shaking.
