She closed her eyes and slightly shook her head back and forth. “What is it,” She asked. Dr. James walked over to us and started saying a bunch of big, technical words that I didn’t understand. Then, he said something that I understood, but couldn’t bear to hear. “I think we need to stop the chemo.” I knew what that meant. It meant she was going to die and there was nothing they could do that would stop it. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there, and didn’t say a word as I stared blankly at the white tiled floor. My Mom and I got back into the car and drove home. When we walked inside the house, my little brother, Elijah, was on the couch playing video games with my Dad. They turned off the TV and broke the news. All of us were crying except for my Mom. She kept saying how she can fight it, or how we can get through things without her, and how she’ll make frozen casseroles to put in the freezer before she ‘goes.’ I don’t know how she was so strong through all of it. She never shed a tear until her last day on earth. I remember that day because it was Brenna’s birthday, March 13. I had to miss her birthday party because I couldn’t find the strength to do anything for a