I ran into my Mom's chemotherapy nurse at a dog show a few weeks ago. I always feel uncomfortable when someone asks how I am. Perhaps it is survivor guilt. I'm fine, I'm alive, she's gone and the hardest times are coming for me.

The flowers are starting to peak there heads out of the ground. The trees are starting to bud. When Mom was first diagnosed in September of 2006 that was one of the first things she told me. She said "I don't know if I will see flowers bloom again". Mom was an extraordinary gardener. Everything grew for her. She did see Spring, twice after her diagnosis. Last year she wasn't strong enough to plant her own flowers. I planted them all while she watched. I asked her if she liked what I had chosen and how I had planted them. Mom said "I better like them considering everything you have done for me." Everything I had done? You raised me. You gave me everything. Because of you I am still here.

As Mom continued to grow weaker last spring I would go to their house everyday and stay with Mom while Dad would go out and do the shopping and errands. I would make her lunch, give her her meds and make sure she was comfortable. I would cover her up on the couch with the afghan and tuck it in around her tiny feet. She looked at me one day and told me that I made her feel so good when I came over and cared for her.