Then ~January 1995~
As my mother's cancer progressed, she became better at hiding it from us. Christmas had been wonderful. All the generous presents and homemade goodies to go with it, she had painstakingly planned out. I really thought that she was feeling pretty good. I lived an hour away, but called often. She rarely talked about her daily battle.

We stopped by the house on New Year's Day. She looked awful. She was weak and exhausted. She never made it up to her bedroom to sleep again. She was admitted to the hospital shortly after. We visited every other day. My father finally told me a week later that this was the beginning of the end. She was dying. It hit like a ton of bricks. I couldn't make it make sense. I sobbed uncontrollably for days. A friend at work drove me home the day after I was told since I couldn't stop crying. I really tried to act brave. I was only 23, and this was more than I could take. I loved my mother; we were supposed to do so much more in life together. How could she die? We were really finally becoming friends.

After I came home from a visit a few days later, and I was climbing into bed, the phone rang. Dad said, "Get here! Now!!" We flew. Paul, my fiancé, went along and held my hand for the next 12 hours. We were there when she took her final breath. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. Numbness set in and somehow we went on.

We married a year later. The wedding wasn't full of the little details that Mom and I would have fussed over, but it was a good party. Someone said "How can you even do this with your mother gone?" It felt like a punch in the gut. My magical day dissolved for a moment after hearing that comment. I'm not certain of my response, but it was along the lines that Mom loved Paul and would want us married. It was a beautiful day, but our hearts were joined already. Sadness and loss only made our commitment stronger. I had begun to learn at that young age what life was truly about.

Now ~ August 2002~
I was a teacher in a previous life. I say it that way for many reasons. I was so career-oriented. I thought I was changing the world. I worked after Kate was born. It was hard, but never did I think that I was doing the wrong thing. The people I worked with, however, made it very clear that a mother belongs at home. Work was no longer fun. I changed jobs after that first year and went part-time. My new school was wonderful. The boss loved me and begged me not to leave when I announced that I'd be staying home after the twins were born. It all seems so long ago. Dad was diagnosed with cancer after the end of the school year. My world was about to change in more ways than I imagined.

I thought I knew everything about motherhood and was naïve to think that Dad's battle with cancer couldn't end the same as Mom's. He was too strong, healthy, and active. My pregnancy was going well although I had to endure many precautionary tests. Aimee and Amanda arrived healthy and strong on June 23, 2001 in the wee hours of morning. My beautiful girls were ready to meet the world and big sister, Kate.

My father came into town that afternoon to meet his new grandchildren. Since Mom had died six years earlier, I clung to my Dad to fill the shoes she left empty. He had been in some pain for a few months and I was thrilled he felt well enough to make the drive. Had I known that when he held them in his arms that day, he wouldn't be able to repeat that action on their first birthday, I would have filled the camera with his image. I have so few.

We came home on a bright sunny morning. Kate was dressed up and ready to welcome her sisters. She was thrilled to have them, and me, home. She quickly became the helper and I watched as my little baby grew to be a big sister. Kate became good at getting things I needed. The babies required much care and there were days, when Daddy got home, her and I would disappear to relax and get away for a little while. Actually it seemed that when I would sneak upstairs for a soak in the tub, a naked girl would instantly appear begging to play too! She became my island of calmness amid the often-stormy sea of being a mother of twins. My husband, Paul, often rescued me as well. Never once complaining that laundry wasn't folded or picking up dinner because I just wasn't able to cook. He was always ready with a smile, hug or compliment. Although I tuned him out sometimes, he was still right there in the thick of it with me. My husband, lover, friend became another oasis for me to find peace.

All the while, my Dad was fighting his fight. We had convinced him to go to the very best hospital in the area. He was tested and tested. His pain was manageable with the medicine they gave him. The final diagnosis finally came in September. He had liver cancer. It had progressed to the point where surgery was impossible. They tried a low dose chemotherapy that fall and early winter. It reduced his immune system to nothing. He was constantly in the hospital with infections. Chemotherapy was stopped in January. That was it. They could not do anything else.

My dad died in February. What a terribly awful battle. I held my Kate in my arms throughout the visitations and funeral. I think she knew I needed her as much as she needed me. I never thought that my little girl would have to witness death after only two years of her life. She still clings to me now in large crowds. She has seen this great sorrow, no wonder she doesn't want to let go . . .