Day 2

My mom is saying her daily novena in the other room.

She is patiently waiting for a Hospice worker's arrival.

I am not as patient.

I trace a heart in the dust covered coffee table then quickly realize I could pass the time with a few loads of laundry and a mop.

I first tackle the knicknacks and picture frames.

A lifetime of memories surrounds me.

Another showed a young couple, laughing at an unknown joke.

One photo of my mom was taken in my college apartment.

And judging from my silver choker and charcoal grey Gap v-neck sweater, a picture of my mom and her two daughters was clearly shot in the late 90s.

All were taken before her diagnosis.

Then, I had never heard of a glioblastoma.

Cancer was a disease that struck other families.

I could feel my eyes beginning to swell.

My, how so much has changed.

Hospice is not about death. At least that's what the admissions counselor tells us.


If it wasn't about death, they why is its care for those in the end stages of their illnesses?

If it wasn't about death, then why does it feel so rotten?