It was a good number of years ago that a 36-year-old mother was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. One doctor told her to take a lengthy vacation; another held out a very short reprieve if she underwent some terrible chemotherapy and radiation. This is what she wrote to her three, small children: “I’ve chosen to try to survive for you. This has some horrible costs, including pain, loss of my good humor, and moods I won’t be able to control. But I must try this, if only on the outside chance that I might live one minute longer. And that minute could be the one you might need me when no one else will do. For this I intend to struggle, tooth and nail, so help me God.”
