It was a late night. I was with my sister and my aunt in some restaurant, not really sure where the day went, not really sure when I’d be home. My aunt looked tired. She was always the funny aunt. The one that liked bathroom jokes and never really agreed on becoming an adult. But today she was low in spirit.

“So,” she began to say, looking at my sister and me, “you do know what is happening to your mother, don’t you?”

My sister nodded her head and said yes. I had no clue other than that she was sick. Then she told us. Probably to make sure we understood. Probably because the word cancer couldn’t possibly describe the future alone.