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As if it weren’t enough that my parents got a divorce, a year later my mother being diagnosed with cancer just topped the cake. I was only in third grade when my mother had to sit both my brothers and I down to tell us that she had lung cancer. It didn’t sound too bad at the time though; she followed by telling us it was in its early stages, meaning they would be able to stop it totally, well hopefully. I didn’t quite understand what it meant having cancer, yet I didn’t have the guts to ask about it any further, seeing that it already upset her. Throughout that year she went to the doctor’s constantly, all she ever said was, things are getting better. My mom has never really ever told me everything that is going on in her body, she didn’t want to trouble me. The day I asked her a year ago she told me not to worry. They stopped her cancer in her lungs from spreading, well for a little while. Things were looking up for my mother’s health; at least that is what I thought. Middle of my fourth grade year, again in the same room, on the same couch, sat my brothers and I. My mom was crying, they had found a spot in her chest with cancer, she would be going to chemo for a while. Looking right at me, she said, “Mommy is going to be really tired when she gets home so you are going to have to be exceptionally good.” I knew she meant what she said. That is exactly what happened. For the next six months she would come home, tired, trying to make us dinner, then going right to sleep.
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