Content Warning: Death of a parent
When I asked if you would get leukemia
like your father had, you assured me no
and I think you believed yourself.
When you found out you had it,
you said you never thought this
would be the thing to end your life.
Your doctors told you it wasn’t genetic,
not to worry, to have a child of your own.
Now I worry, will I get it? If I have a child
someday, will they lose me like I lost you,
like you lost your dad—will it strike thrice?
Each time I ask my doctors, they assure me
it isn’t genetic. Still, whenever my gums bleed,
every bruise I can’t source, every little thing
that might point to leukemia makes me think
it’s coming for me. It’s not that I’m scared to die
someday. I’m scared to die of the same thing that
killed your dad, the same thing that killed you.
I’ll wear the fear forever—the one that fastened
itself to me at 17. If my life is cut short just like
yours, imagine the dread my children would feel.
“Since I hit my thirties, people keep asking my husband and I when we’re having kids as if it is inevitable. My gatekeeper to motherhood is the fear of having a child and that child losing me to the disease that seems to be stalking my branch of the family tree. Maybe in a way I’m already acting like a mother, looking out for the wellbeing of a child that doesn’t even exist.”
Hannah Dilday is an emerging American writer currently residing in Utrecht, The Netherlands. Prior to relocating abroad in 2020, she earned her BS in Philosophy from The University of Oregon. Hannah’s poetry has appeared in ONE ART and Anti-Heroin Chic, among others. Hannah is inspired by her late father both in poetry, and in life.