Goodnight.

Her hair was gone, she was frail and slow. She spent a lot of time on her favorite floral ottoman in front of the window. We were still pretending like it was going to get better, or maybe we were just pretending that we didn't know it was getting worse. It was just me and her, and I asked her what she was feeling. She said she was sad, but not for her. For me. Tears streamed down her face and we were quiet.

"Mom, you're going through this scary and impossible situation, and you're sad for me... that's what makes you so amazing..." I said and reached and touched her bony hand.

"It's because I love you more than I love myself" she said through the tears. I leaned over and held her, careful not to crush her already frail and tiny frame. We just held each other, like we knew it was the last time. I tried to commit her scent to memory, the way her arms felt around me.

In the days to com, either the cancer or the medication worked its way to her brain, and she couldn't hold conversations anymore. Quick sentences, delayed reactions, confusion. And then, she was gone.

Now, when I bring my little guy into bed, I rub his head and tell him

"I love you more than I love myself."

I want it to be the last thing he hears from me every night, for the rest of his life.