Day 138.

She just told me how she was going to die...

"...in peace in my sleep, I will float away."

I am officially broken.

She also told me that there were many angels in the room, and that one was standing right behind me.

I am so not strong enough to do this.

Floating in pieces,
Niki FM.

Day 130.

Last night I had a dream that mom died.

Her last words to me before she went to go hang out with Master J, were:

"You are strong, and beautiful and I will always be with you."

Still speechless this morning. Was it a sign? Was it a hint?

Speechless,
Niki FM.

Day 125.

Caroline told me you weigh 79 pounds today. The tumor in your neck is the size of a tennis ball, and is now growing inward.

My heart is breaking, again. But you know what my roommate Amy told me last night?

"It's like swallowing a piece of glass. It's going to hurt like hell, but one day, eventually, the edges will dull and it won't hurt as much anymore."

I love you mom. And I'm going to hurt for a long time, but one day I will wake up and things won't hurt as much. I'm going to be okay, I promise.

Shards of glass,
Niki FM.

Day 123.

Today is heavy.

I've decided to have the "it's okay to die" talk with Mom. I can't be selfish anymore. So, next weekend when I go home, I will have it.

Mom, if you get to see this, I'm going to be okay. I'm going to be sad for a long time, but I'm going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. I promise you that.

I don't want you to suffer anymore. You deserve to be singing and dancing with Jesus. Not stuck here in hell on earth dying. I love you always.

Heavy and light,
Niki FM.