Cancer. I despise that word. It robs us of so many things, but ultimately it steals those we love. It snatches them from our clinging arms. And leaves us holding only memories.

Hospice arrived on Saturday night. (If you don’t know what I’m referring to, read this.) I’m not sure how I feel. My emotions oscillate like a fan. One moment I’m fine and the next I’m trying to stem the tears. To keep them from my 9-year-old whom watches me. She models my behavior and I’m trying to be strong for her. For me. I think I am failing. As of Saturday night, we were told we have two weeks left. Doesn’t seem long enough and yet I know for her, it is too long. She is dwindling, like a wick on a candle. Her former self, barely there.  She sleeps often and when she is awake, she is so tired, she struggles to keep her eyes open. And if she is alert, the pain medication muddies her mind. So our conversations are brief and limited.

I already miss her.