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then, and it made her double over.
    “Is the pain medicine wearing off?” I asked anxiously.
    “I’m afraid so.” Mom was clutching her chest.
    I peeked through Mom’s door and saw to my relief that the nurse was waiting. I signaled to her.
    The nurse hurried into the room and fussed over Mom for a few minutes.
    “Why don’t you rest now, Mrs. Winslow?” she said, and Mom nodded weakly.
    I hope I have gotten everything down, everything we said this afternoon. I don’t want to forget one word of it.
    Thursday 3/18
    3:22 A.M.
    Whoa. I just woke up from the most horrible dream. I was in my bedroom and somehow I knew that a man was trying to get into my room. He was on the other side of my door, holding a huge quilt, and he planned to smother me with the quilt. I could hear him rattling the door handle.
    I woke up sweating.
    The first time in weeks that I’ve actually been in a deep sleep.
    When I first woke up I thought I heard Mom downstairs, thought I heard her moaning, but when I listened at my door (which I was terrified of opening because of that man with the quilt) I heard nothing.
    5:46 A.M.
    I was able to go back to sleep for a couple of hours, and now I’m up again. I grabbed for the journal right away. I want to record everything. Everything I can about these days.
    These last few days.
    Something happened at dinner last night, after I’d talked to Mom.
    Dad and I were alone in the kitchen. Aunt Morgan was with Mom, even though Mom was
    asleep, and even though the nurse was here. Dad and I were supposedly eating dinner, although once again we were just sitting in front of plates of untouched food. And we were barely speaking.
    After a long, long pause, Dad said, “Sunny, you don’t have to go to school anymore. I mean, until after … you know …”
    (Nobody wants to say anything too casual about Mom’s dying. We talk about it and we don’t talk about it.)
    “You’re giving me permission not to go to school?”
    “Well, it’ll only be for a couple of — ” Dad stopped himself.
    Of course I had figured this out for myself. All of it. That Mom had only a day or so left, and that I could stay home until she died. After all, I’m already staying home. (Has Dad noticed?) But when I heard Dad say these words, that cold fear came over me again. It was as if as long as those thoughts stayed inside my head, maybe I had made them up. But now Dad was saying
    them, so they must be true.
    “What do you mean?” I said to Dad.
    “I think you know,” he replied.
    “Yeah. I know that you’ve given up on Mom. You and everyone else. You have all given up.”
    “Sunny — ”
    “Well, it’s true. I just don’t understand why. Why have you all given up?”
    “Sunny — ”
    “No one talks about the future. No one even talks about next week. It’s like there is no future.”
    “Sunny,” said Dad flatly. “I thought you understood. Mom’s treatments have been stopped and nothing more can be done for her. We have talked about all of this.”
    “I know.” I stared down at my plate. “But how could this happen? How could we let it happen?
    It’s like we’re killing Mom.”
    I though [sic] Dad might get angry at that, but instead he said, “It does feel that way. You just have to remember that the way things feel isn’t always the way things are. Mom’s treatments were more painful than helpful. And when she dies her misery will finally be over.”
    “I know,” I whispered. “I just don’t really understand any of it.”
    “Nether do I,” said Dad.
    “The new pain stuff is helping her, though, isn’t it?”
    “A little, yes. It buys her time. And there are some things she wants to do.”
    My heart leaped. “You mean like places she wants to visit?”
    “Oh, honey, no,” said Dad quickly. “The pain medication does nothing more than what you saw it do this afternoon. Take away her pain long enough for her to have conversations or visits with people, or to write a bit. There are a few