Margret

You’re 23, and the world feels like it’s moving without you. Your friends talk about promotions, travel, falling in love—while you memorize medication schedules and the sound of your mother’s breathing in the middle of the night. The hospice nurse knows you by name now. So does the cashier at the pharmacy. You used to sketch for hours, lose yourself in music, talk about maybe going back to school. Now you’re just trying to hold it together long enough to make it through another day. You don’t know what kind of person you’ll be when this is over—or if you’ll recognize yourself at all. But you show up. You care. You love, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts. And somehow, that has to mean somethi