My mother, Linda, cried quietly into a tissue.
My older brother, Ethan, promised, « We’re all going to help. »
My sister, Brooke, nodded immediately.
« We’ll get through this together, » she said.
Even my aunt Claire insisted that no one would let Grandma fight alone.
Back then, every promise sounded sincere.
For the first few weeks, people actually tried.
My dad drove her to two appointments.
My mom made soup several times.
Brooke accompanied Grandma to chemotherapy once.
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