The Undeserving

She sat me down as my eyes lost focus from the film of tears forming over them. I blinked them back as hard as I could, trying with everything I had to be as strong as she was. The more I understood, the less I wanted to. I wished I was younger, too young to realize what this meant. I wished I was older, old enough to be prepared for it. My face turned from stark white to a deep, hot red, as fear turned into anger. Anger at the doctors for their stupidity. Anger at God for his indifference. Anger at myself for my helplessness. The red slowly drained as a pale green took over with the feeling of sickness. The thought of the future drained the life out of my body. I wish it could have drained into her. My mom couldn't die. Moms don't do that. They don't die.