It simply happened.
« I did it, Mom! »
People often ask what the hardest part of childhood cancer is.
They expect parents to say chemotherapy. Or the needles. Or the waiting.
They’re wrong.
The hardest part is watching your child slowly stop acting like a child.
Two years earlier, Martha had been eight years old.
She collected shiny rocks because she believed every one of them contained a tiny dinosaur egg. She named squirrels. She insisted pancakes tasted better when cut into stars.
The hardest part is watching your child slowly stop acting like a child.
Then one ordinary Wednesday afternoon, bruises that shouldn’t have been there changed everything.
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