June: The month of many memories that some I wish I could forget. I grew up faster than I wanted to. I had no choice. In that time I was powerless, and I wanted to change so much.

June 2009 was probably the worst month of my life.

My mom was diagnosed with cervical cancer. The doctors caught it too late, so we heard the words no one ever wants to hear. "There's nothing else we can do." I was in sixth grade when all of this began.

Constant back and forth from the hospital and home. I came home one day from school and walked down the hallway to our guest room where there was a hospital bed, and oxygen tank, and a couple other medical supplies. I had never seen any of these things before. I was terrified.

A couple days passed and my mom was back in the hospital. She would get a little better or at least able to survive without a million tubes or needles. She came home again. I came home from school one day and she was there. She was in our sun room with sunglasses, a long sleeve shirt, and long pants on. It was May. Why was my mom wearing winter clothes? She was very proud of her physical characterisitics. Two of them being her crystal blue eyes and her dirty-blonde hair. Both were being ruined by the monster that was this cancer.

I did not like or prefer to be at my house during this time. I would spend almost every hour of the day at my best friend's house down the street. They knew everything that was happening. I didn't have to hide it. My mom was now in a hospital bed in our living room. She could sit in the recliner and watch tv. I hated seeing my mother like this, so I stayed away from all of it as much as I could.

June 11, 2009 was my mother's 52nd birthday! We had been told that my mom would not live very much longer, so her birthday celebration was quite solemn. We didn't know how to celebrate. Everyone bought her a card and a present. Just like normal. Some of my mom's best friends had made a birthday video to the song "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. Everyone sang and wished her a happy birthday. She watched it a thousand times, and every time, she cried. Today, if I hear that song, my heart breaks into a million pieces.

The dreaded day showed up uninvited. June 25, 2009. I woke up to my mom acting bizarrely. My dad explained that mom was transitioning. I understood. I hated it. I sat next to my mom in the hospital bed and held her hand. She didn't know it was me, so she pushed it away as fast as she could. The only hands she welcomed were my dad's and my grandmother's. I got very frustrated so I went upstairs and watched TV in my parents' bedroom. About an hour passed, and a nurse came in the room. My heart raced about 100 miles a minute. She told me that my parents wanted to see me. I had a moment of, "well, she said parents, so she must mean plural and mom is okay! Right?" I walked downstairs and heard my grandmother crying. I knew at that moment what had happened. I was led into my living room. My world completely stopped. I screamed at the top of my lungs for a full two minutes or more. I sank to the floor and was taken into another room where my grandparents tried to calm me down. My mom and my best friend was gone. All my grandparents could say was, "It's okay. She's not in pain anymore!" I didn't care. I wanted my mom back!

I didn't know what I had done to deserve this, but I dealt with it as well as a 12-year-old can. What sort of torture was this? My entire family came into town and took care of funeral plans and took care of my dad and me. The day my mom died, one of the first things I said was, "How are we going to celebrate Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays?"

I am forever grateful for the overwhelming support I gained from family and friends through this difficult time.

This year it will be seven years since. Wow. So much has changed. June is always hard. I have gained a new mom and a sister. I am so lucky. I haven't let go of my mom in the least, but I have moved forward; something I know she would want for me to do.

I love and miss you everyday, mom.