Both of my children.
My twins.
Born on the same day, inseparable their entire lives, and now both fighting the same terrifying disease.
It felt as though our home had moved into the hospital.
When Lily received chemotherapy, Ben sat beside her. When Ben felt sick, Lily held his hand.
The only person helping us was my father, George.
Every evening, he came to the hospital and read the children stories about the ocean.
One day, Ben asked him,
“Grandpa, can you see where the ocean ends?”
“No.”
Lily smiled.
“Then I want to see it just once.”
“Me too,” Ben immediately said.
At that moment, I turned toward the window.
The doctors had already told me that Lily’s treatment was not producing the results they had hoped for.
I didn’t know how much time we had left.
That same evening, my father handed me an envelope.
