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She could afford a hospital gown and a high five from an overworked nurse, but those wouldn’t keep the cancer from killing her.
The man wailed like a husky being forced into a bathtub.
“There is teddy bear nice, and there is momma bear nice. You are momma bear nice.”
More than two months—almost two and a half—had gone by. While the weight of his absence and the danger that he and all the others were in was just as heavy, her ability to deal with it had increased, making the burden more manageable. It was a bit like grief that way, she supposed. Or just life.
