<p>Mom has Breast Cancer?&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Amber, come in here, I need to talk to you,&rdquo; my mother called out to me while I was getting ready for another day of sixth grade. <em>Uh-oh</em>. I entered her bedroom hesitantly. Even though it was morning, the curtains were drawn and her room was only illuminated by one small night-stand lamp. Mom&rsquo;s face was colorless and melancholy, she asked me to sit down. I cautiously sat on the corner of the bed, close to the door. She looked at me very matter-of-factly and said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be dead before you get home.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She spoke as if she were telling me about the day's weather. My heart slammed into my mouth. I didn't know what to think, the room began to spin. "I have breast cancer," she said.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She lifted up her nightgown to expose her right breast. "See?" she asked, taking my hand and rubbing it against her lower breast. Extremely awkward.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Do you feel that lump?" I didn't feel anything but extreme discomfort. My mother was never shy, and had strolled around the house buck-naked before, but as she pushed my finger-tips back into her nipple, it was over-the-top. I pulled my hand away and stared at her bed-spread, the pillows, anything but her face. I was speechless. <em>This isn&rsquo;t the typical suicidal threat. Is this real?</em> It would be insanity to lie about something so traumatic, and her performance was so sincere that I believed her. She totally brainwashed me.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She walked slowly to her closet, slightly bent-over as if she were in physical pain. Every now and then she would cough, sounding like a newborn baby.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Try this on,&rdquo; a shirt shot through the closet door. Clothes that mom knew I liked continued to fly out of the closet door. I followed her inside the small closet. She told me that since she would be dead soon, she didn&rsquo;t need them. It was surreal as she continued, sometimes pressing blouses against my chest for size. I couldn&rsquo;t handle the situation anymore and completely broke down.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want clothes, I want you mom!&rdquo; I lost it, and collapsed to the closet floor, crying.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She picked me up in a sympathetic, consoling manner and began to gently stroke the back of my hair. &ldquo;I know baby, I know.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It was so bizarre, and terrorizing, yet somehow, I went to school. I had to go. I couldn&rsquo;t stay in the house. Needless to say, I couldn&rsquo;t focus on anything but the image of my mother at home, dead in her bed. Cold, bloated, and alone.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <em>Do I tell a teacher? If I did, I would be punished like My brother was.</em> That unwelcome small voice of my subconscious nagged me all day; she&rsquo;s going to die. YOU are to blame.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I was so terrified to go home that afternoon, I was sure I would discover her lifeless body upstairs, just as she&rsquo;d promised.But school ended, and I found myself staring at our front door.</p>
<p><strong>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </strong>I twisted the round brass knob to the front door a half turn, and pushed gently.</p>