My parents refused to care for my younger kids while I tended to my oldest with leukemia; I called my ex-husband, but he said: “You’re just a poor writer, deal with it”

me in longer than I wanted to count.

I washed the dish and intended to return it once things settled down.

It sat near the door for weeks.

For three weeks, I almost convinced myself that things really would settle down.

I didn’t know we were almost out of weeks.

The treatment stopped working the way everyone hoped.

I’m not going to walk you through the medical details.

If you have lived it, you don’t need them.

If you haven’t, I would rather spare you.

What I want to tell