I sneeze. I blow my nose. I drink tea Ming makes me and orange juice. I sleep.
Today we were supposed to go to Santa Barbara to see my bestie and her baby, but they’re sick too!
Mom was putting on her makeup, drawing on her eyebrows, and we were talking about death. “When my dad died, I grieved for everything we never had,” she said.
“I didn’t do that, when Dad died,” I said. “In a way, I had given up a long time before.”
I told her Dad almost died so many times, I had a lot of practice.
“It’s a weird feeling, when both of your parents are gone,” Mom said.
“When you die, it’ll be totally different,” I said.
She complained to her doctor that the cancer center has all these classes and they’re all during the day, so she can’t go to any of them since she works.
“You’re remarkable,” the doctor told her.
“Did you tell him you’re a badass?” I asked.
“No,” Mom said. “Too bad you weren’t there. You could have told him for me.”