I’m trying to appreciate the small things. Sliced up banana in my cereal. Sea lions barking underneath the Santa Monica Pier. I’ve been meaning to go up to the mountains. I want to roll up my pants, sit on a mossy rock and catch newts in a creek. I want to count stars and think about – and I mean, really think about – what goes into making a single star. And then multiply that awe with the night sky. I’m trying to find the eternity in things.

I live on the coast, an hour from frayed land where the ocean wears away sand like dead skin cells. I spend hours by the water and tan to a warm brown. I don’t bleed in the wash like my jeans do, nor do my colors fade like old t-shirts. Somewhere above sea level, above the smog and unsettled atoms of sky, exists the pinnacle of my understanding. Somewhere beyond me, perhaps in a vacuum, all facts fall at the same rate, but somewhere down here my father’s heart stops. Twice. And I’m trying to find the eternity in things.

I’m giving everything correct names. It’s a verbal christening crusade.  Ivy calls it “Acetaminophen” and/or “A Secret.” I call it “Attempted Suicide.” Ali calls it “Acetaminophen and Clinical Depression.” I call it “Attempted Suicide.” Pronounced correctly, it reads “A Sigh of Relief.” New territory demands exploration and proper terminology. The doctors call it “Breast Cancer.” My mother calls it “Fear.” I call it “Tales of a Fifth Floor Something,” wherein the oncology department is located on the fifth floor and the ‘something’ is the aggressive, invasive ‘something’ growing in my mother’s left breast. The hard lessons come with surgery, chemo, radiation. The morals of the story are wigs, food that tastes like ash, and life.

I want to think everything lasts. I like to think Forest Lawn is just an optional detour off San Fernando Road. Getting cancer’s like catching the flu, so you rest. Your heart giving out is from laughing too hard, so you breathe. I like to think I’ll always drive down Sunset Boulevard against the setting sun, eyes squinting against the dry, orange skyline.

But the palm trees are dying.