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than were left on my head. Every day, my mother tried to soothe me when I went to her in tears, to show her yet another clump.
    “My big girl, it’s only hair. It will grow back again,” she promised.
    That was easily said, but nobody could imagine how I felt, losing it all.
    I’d loved my long hair. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d let it grow. Hair is part of our personality, giving us confidence, defining who we are. It was a part of me.
    And as my hair grew thinner, so did my self-worth.
    Eventually, I was incapable of witnessing the gradual loss. Once I had only feathers left on my head, I shaved off what remained with my father’s razor. All done, I was bald.
    I stared for hours into the mirror at the stranger staring back, the empty shell of who I’d been. I was chalk white, with dark circles under my eyes. Each day, I’d grown thinner. Pricks and bruises from needle insertions covered my arms.
    I couldn’t stand to look at myself. I didn’t know the person reflected back at me. She was a stranger. A stranger with my face. She looked like me, but she wasn’t me.
    Where was I supposed to search for the woman I’d once been? Did she still even exist?
    How could I accept me when I hated myself?
    Everything I saw in the mirror appalled me.

Chapter 6
    Mia—A Long Good-bye
    Graz, June 2012
    The day of my departure finally arrived. I was nervous but still determined to go.
    The train station was packed. People yelled from all directions, kissed loved ones good-bye, shed a few tears.
    Standing on the platform, my mother and I hugged for a long time. The harried crowd swirled around us. Trains arrived and departed. But for mom and me, time stood still, and we savored this moment as best as we could.
    I would miss her terribly. Throughout the past year, she had always been there for me, had worked to build up my shattered confidence.
    I was so very grateful for all the support she’d given me while I’d undergone chemo and the unceasing onslaught of exams and checkups. For each appointment, she’d driven me to the hospital, waited half the day, then taken me home. She’d been my rock. She’d never complained, not even when I’d yelled at her out of rage at having to continue on. I’d wanted her to leave me alone and let me rot. Sometimes I’d even drummed my fists against her. She’d only waited until I’d calmed down, until I’d collapse, sobbing in her arms.
    She was everything to me. And I hadn’t once thanked her.
    She slowly released me from her embrace but didn’t let go of my hands. She sucked in air, then gradually blew it out, her eyes shimmering. A faint smile played on her lips.
    I glanced at my father; he’d been watching us and now gave me a sad nod. He wasn’t one to display his emotions and preferred to keep a distance.
    I took a deep breath and locked gazes with my mother. I bit my lower lip. It was hard for me, as well, to show my feelings or talk about them. In that way, I was like my father.
    By now, Mom’s eyes brimmed with tears. One lonely drop escaped, ran down her cheek, and fell to the ground. With both her hands, she caressed my upper arms. She wanted to make me feel relaxed, but I couldn’t bear to see the pain in her eyes any longer and looked down.
    “Thank you,” I murmured, my eyes on the ground.
    With an index finger, my mother tilted up my chin. “Look at me, Mia.” She smiled and waited.
    “Thank you, Mom. You’ve been there for me the whole year. Thank you for everything you did.”
    Another tear trailed down her cheek.
    “I know I haven’t been easy to deal with,” I said very quietly. “But you never complained. Not once.”
    I lowered my gaze again. The sight of my mother, overwhelmed by her feelings and with tears coursing down her face, was too much for me to bear. But I needed her to know how much I loved her.
    “I’m so grateful for you, for how you supported me in every situation. You’ve been the best mother, and the very best friend,