Mom was still working at ACT, and Dad still took care of us. We didn’t talk much about his being sick. After that first big conversation with Mom, it became something we lived with but didn’t focus on. My parents didn’t hide it—I knew that it was serious enough that Dad had been put on a list for an emergency liver transplant—but since being sad couldn’t fix anything, we just continued on as usual and hoped for the best. Every night I prayed for the cancer to go away. Every day I acted like nothing was wrong. Maybe, more than anything else, this is what it takes to be a successful performer: you keep going. Hurt yourself in a rehearsal? Keep going. Lose a competition? Keep going. Get turned down for a part? Keep going. Someone you love gets sick? Keep. Going. Dad’s having cancer was, in a weird way, a lot like auditioning for a show. I was constantly hoping to hear news, good or bad. Over the next few months, things changed gradually, so that it’s hard for me to pinpoint exactly what happened when.
