She did what they said. "Fight.", she fought. "Stop." she stopped. Why not keep fighting? Why fight at all? There goes an hour. What day is it now? She wakes up at 3:00am, 4:00, 2:00pm. She sleeps and is all too often awakened by them attending to her. She cannot lift her arms, roll over, pick up her head, feel her legs. She feels their hands on her antler bones. It hurts when they touch her. She breaks and breaks. If only they'd move her when she was awake. She's awake more than anyone knows.
The Doctor told her and said "together they would fight it." Her mother cried, then began to hollow herself out. She's been as helpful as a person can be who has known all along how this would end. Mom never took it lightly. Mom never got the joke. "The Cancer Fairy" never made her laugh. Every time she came to help it was like she was primping her for the grave.
What about starting over? Isn't that what you do? Your husband leaves. You start over. Your child dies. You start over. Your garden dies. You plant another. She was looking forward to things. She thought they were promises. She was happy, mostly, with the days as they came. She liked her life and the way it had gone. She still has that. None of this is wrong, just unfortunate, hard to believe.
There are birds at the feeder, just outside the window. She has them replenish it. She just points a finger. The Chickadees come. The Juncos come. The Nuthatches come. When the Nurse is away, or taking a break, she might be up, watching for birds.
The birds understand. She roots for the birds. Nests to build, chicks to feed, squabbles to have. "This feeder is MINE." She's looking forward to seeing them tomorrow. Right now, she's falling asleep.