My mom has been dealing with her kidney cancer in the best way she knows how. At times, she's driven to helpless despair when she realizes that she has no control over her own life, but at times, she is freed from awareness of her condition, conversing about mundane topics. She's still walking on her own and taking care of some household chores, but she seems to tire easily. She still goes to work two days a week. Overall, an uninformed observer might say that she's doing pretty well.
When my brother and I told dad about our upcoming travel plans, he pulled us aside, and in a hushed tone, sealed her fate. "The doctors say she has at most a few months, more likely, a few weeks." At that moment, the faint glow of hope flashed into a deep, empty blackness. My ability to naively silence the truth, the morbid inevitability that she will die, suddenly vanished. Such certainty, such coldness. The tears in his eyes confirmed his words like the smash of the gavel. It has been decided.
May we spend our remaining time wisely.
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