The diagnosis came as a surprise; a seizure on a train, one day, made the world smaller. It was a brain tumor, scary and unknown, and it was killing my mother. Six months to live seemed too short. There was hope in the beginning: new groundbreaking cures that would save my mother. They all failed. I didn’t know how to cope, so I pretended.
I played a widow in my school’s play that year. One day during rehearsal my dad called. There were no more viable treatment options, he told me, my mom would die within six weeks. I wanted to leave, to be with my mom, but I didn’t allow myself to. Instead I continued practice as usual. When I came home that night, struggling to keep my feelings in check, I discovered how my family dynamic had changed.
I
I played a widow in my school’s play that year. One day during rehearsal my dad called. There were no more viable treatment options, he told me, my mom would die within six weeks. I wanted to leave, to be with my mom, but I didn’t allow myself to. Instead I continued practice as usual. When I came home that night, struggling to keep my feelings in check, I discovered how my family dynamic had changed.
I