The Fight

Now she has had her four chemo treatments and gone through the trauma of losing her hair.  She gets sick the week after her chemo and then bounces back slower each time.  But in writing and thinking about this I am not writing about her fight as much as I am writing about my families fight.  Hers is her own to tell.  I watch as my dad hovers over my mom, scared to lose a moment with her so he even lays down with her when she feels bad.  I watch as my sisters worry about my mom when she feels bad or depressed, working hard to bring her spirits up.
 We are a close family and my heart breaks when my mom tells me she is only fighting because of us girls.  I see her fight leaving her each time she hurts after her treatment, each time she becomes angry that she cannot physically do the things she wants to because she gets tired or her joints hurt.  I get mad that she isn't mad enough to fight for herself, that she seems so passive and is letting this happen without getting angry.  I want her to be ferocious and fight like I know she can but it seems like she is accepting a death sentence.  I am angry at her for this but I will never tell her this.  We all do what we can to act normal around her, to make things as normal as possible without making her mad.  It's a strain but we make it work for the moment.  Tomorrow we find out if the tumor has shrunk with the chemo.  We will see how it goes from there.