"Why me?" I thought despairingly. "Why did this have to happen to me? Why?" I slumped on my bed, weary from my crying and anger. Now that I had gotten over most of my anger, fear and disbelief crept into my head. I didn't want to accept it, but I knew I had to. My mom had just been diagnosed with an advanced case of ovarian cancer.

It was a rainy night, it felt like the whole world was crying. Crying because we couldn't move back to Alaska, crying because my mom was sick. It was then that I realized that I didn't know if my mom was going to make it out of this or not. It terrified me, and the tears that had refused to come out that afternoon poured down my cheeks. I couldn't eat dinner that night. Asking to be excused, I left the table.

That night I lay in bed, thinking. On top of everything else, I would be starting school in less than a month. I had no idea how to act in front of my friends. What should I do? Would they think that I was a baby if I started crying in front of them? What if no one liked me anymore? And with these absurd thoughts still drifting through my head, I fell into an uneasy sleep.

My mom was in the hospital. She was going to have surgery in just a few hours. I wouldn't be able to see her for a few days, so that meant living with just my dad. I cried every night, and then when I would finally fall asleep, I would wake up from horrible dreams of my mom dying.

When I could finally see her, I was almost afraid to look at her. My dad promised me that things were going fine, but I wasn't so sure. I warily slipped into my mom's room, and all at once my feelings were mixed. I was glad she was O.K., sad that she had a million machines around her, happy to see her, angry that she was here at all. I didn't know what to do or say, so I just went up to her and gave her a timid hug. She smiled weakly, but said nothing. I guess that she was waiting for me to say something first, because after I said, "Hi," she started talking to me. Her voice was like a tiny little kitten lost in a rainstorm. Soon I had to leave. The visit had been scary, but I was assured that she was O.K. For the time being.

My mom was out of the hospital; that was good. But she was undergoing chemotherapy; that was bad. It was hard on all of us, and especially her. She was sick all the time; it was like she had a case of the flu that wouldn't quit. I would usually do my homework in her room, but sometimes she was so sick that I couldn't concentrate on it.

Our dining table was always set for three; mom hardly ever ate dinner. It seemed like the only thing going right in my life was the fact that my friends and teacher at school all helped me through this. I grew to accept what was happening, but things were going to get worse before they were going to get better.

My mom's chemotherapy was hitting her harder each time. She still wouldn't eat. I was beginning to get used to her being sick, but I couldn't fully accept what was happening. My mom would go to the hospital so much, it was like a second home to her. When she would come home from the hospital she would go straight up to bed. My mom was a strong woman though. She almost always had a smile for me when I would come home from school. And my family was behind her 100%.

It seemed as though school was the only thing that was going the way I wanted it to. Most people would probably get depressed if something like this happened to them. I tried not to be like that. I worked my hardest in school, and had a lot to show from it. I believed that if I did good in school, it would make my mom happy, and everyone says that happiness is one stop on the long road to recovery. And I was right. Whenever I would bring home a paper that she knew I had worked my hardest on, and especially a good grade, my mom would tell me how proud she was, I was sure I could see a tiny glimmer of happiness on her face, and I definitely had one too.

It was Thanksgiving. We were having the dinner at our friends' house. There was a true happiness in the air, something that I hadn't felt in a long time. My mom was not there. She was at home, recovering from her last chemotherapy. We all wished that she was there, but I guess that it was a lot better that she was safe in her bed. I had a good dinner, and then I went outside to play with my cousin. The whole time I was thinking about mom. Thanksgiving was family time, and that was all that I wanted, for my family to be happy again. When we got home, I dashed upstairs. I threw open the door, crying,

"Happy Thanksgiving Mom!" She turned to me.

"Happy Thanksgiving Emily." I ran and gave her a hug. When I felt that hug, I felt a surge of hope, for that hug had felt somehow stronger than her others, and I prayed that she would be better soon.

We were home. Back in Homer, Alaska with all of our old friends. Back with the snow and ice. Back with everything I loved. Including my mom. She was done with her chemotherapy, and cruising down the road to recovery. Now all that we can do is wait and see whether her cancer will come back, or whether it's gone for good. At the beginning of this hard time, I kept thinking "I hate my life, I hate my life." But now that I've thought about it, I've realized that I wouldn't trade it for the world.