Get Me the Manager: Ghosts of cancer past continue to haunt - bittersweetly
The last time I held my mother’s frail, bony hand, she had gritted through pancreatic cancer for four cruel months, but her big, round eyes were the most radiant blue I’d ever seen.
“Really? They are?” she asked when I told her, as if she were a kid who’d just been promised that lollipops were waiting for her in the kitchen. She smiled while trying to measure one of those long, slow sighs.