Darkness Doesn’t Get the Final Say

Nine years ago, at the age of seventeen, I had brain surgery to remove a tumor the size of a golf ball.

For months, sickness snuck up on me in the early morning hours and hung on until night fell and sleep took over. No matter who we spoke with or what we tried, there were no answers.

Until a Tuesday evening MRI, which led to a Wednesday afternoon “come in right away” phone call and surgery scheduled for the following Tuesday morning.

Over the weekend, in the few days between, my family and I...