“My mother got blood cancer seven years ago. But she recovered, and we had five more years after that. Those years were the happiest moments of our lives. We never knew how much time we had left, but we knew it was limited. We’d always been best friends. I told her my secrets. She gave me advice. She cooked for me like I was still a child. But before the cancer, things were so casual. She was always around. Nothing seemed important. She was strong. She was independent. She didn’t seem to need attention. But when she was given a new life, I cherished her more. I became nicer. Softer. More sensitive to her needs. We started hugging. We hadn’t hugged since childhood, but we started hugging. I can be difficult sometimes. I’m stubborn. I don’t agree easily. But she never had to convince me again. I took her to restaurants, movies, weddings. I found her artificial hair so she looked beautiful again. I sewed her the best dresses ever. I wanted to make her new life comfortable. And it was. It was the happiest she’s ever been. Eventually the cancer came back. It’s been over two years since she passed. For the longest time I cried like a baby. In the office. In the car. At church. She was my best friend. The world feels empty without her. Even last night I dreamed about her. But I know I must move on. I still think about her all the time. But now I don’t always cry. Sometimes I smile.”
(Paris, France)
