Shut Up, Call Your Mother And Tell Her You Love Her. For Those Of Us Who Can’t.

Thought Catalog

I remember her perfectly, her scent, the feeling of her freckled skin, the way it felt to sit on her lap, her voice calling my name, her famous cookies taken out of the oven too early so they were doughy delicious, everything. When you’re twenty and were just accepted to your dream art school, you don’t expect the worst to gently slip into your life.

She had complained of some pain in her hip so she went to the hospital refusing to leave until a reason was given. It was a sunny day when I came to the hospital to see her and talk about my news of being accepted into the school I never thought I would get into. I went to the room I had thought she was in, but was told she had moved to an entire other floor. Knowing this was the “cancer floor” I didn’t…

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