She is dying.
The doctor was kind, but left no hope. Cancer. My mother is dying of cancer.
She sleeps a lot now, and I have time to think.
At times hopelessness fills my soul. The pain is unbearable.
At other times, memories flood my mind . I always suspected she let me win.
A favorite, family day at the beach.
She is my best friend.
I dread the end.
One day while sitting with her, I remembed something she said at my grandfather's funeral.
Hit by a drunk driver, his death struck me as a tragic waste. Holding me close. she said, it's not how you die that matters, It's how you live.
Life is a gift.
The pain is tempered by a tender thought, my mother's warmth, tenderness and love, her life, was her gift to me.
All that my mother was, she shared with me, and I will share with my little one.