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Preserving the Conversations Between Me, My Sister and Her Brain Tumor

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Standing in a room heavy with suffering is its own kind of awkward. It is not that different from the awkwardness of a low-stakes work presentation.

What do I do with my hands? Where do I look? Am I speaking too fast? Too slow? Sitting in the neuro ICU with my sister, the awkwardness is familiar, only every muscle is tense to keep me composed as Mom cries uncontrollably, wondering how something so cruel and unfair can happen.

My little sister has come back from the brink many times. Though with each near death, it feels like something precious is taken from her as payment to stay.

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