by Tiffany Sheridan

Created on: November 02, 2008   Last Updated: November 03, 2008

Hillary was lost in her thoughts again. Nothing was getting through to Hillary today. She didn't notice the annoying twangy music playing on the radio or her mother, Jill, talking to her. She was in the back seat of the family Ford, trying to forget the reality that faced her. They made this same trip three times a week; Hillary knew it by heart: one hour and fifteen minutes driving, twenty minutes waiting, another hour in a private hell, and then it got real ugly. For being only seventeen years old, Hillary felt at least 30.

"Hillary, hello earth to Hillary" Jill sang in her always sing-song voice. "Yeah, huh, did you say something mom?" Hillary saw straight through the sing song voice and the smiles, she recognized the sadness and torment that came through in her mother's eyes. Hillary was strong for her mother; she had to be. "Yes mom, I remembered to bring my pillow. It's in the trunk. I know mom; I love you more than the stars too." More than the stars, it was a phrase her father Joe started when he began his battle with cancer over 3 years ago. He died just four months ago.

The official rule was that the lymphoma was what had killed him, but deep in Hillary's heart she felt it was the disappointment weighing too heavy on his heart that finally made his fight too much to bear. Seven months ago, two days before Joe's birthday, Hillary was diagnosed with the same cancer that was killing her father. It was March 5th, a day that she will remember for as long as she lives. Hillary saw pure torture across her mother's face when the doctor gave them the news. She was an only child, and Jill knew that Joe was ending his time here on earth. Now her only child was heading down that same path.

They arrived at the children's hospital, which made Hillary laugh slightly; she hadn't been a child in several years. Deep breath, gather yourself, get through the next hour, Hillary recited the same mantra to herself each time she arrived for her chemotherapy treatments. She grabbed her personal pillow out of the trunk and, without shame, took her mom's hand; with her head held high she marched into that hospital.

Today they met with her oncologist, Dr. Frank. He did his usual run of tests. Always friendly and a little goofy, he made Hillary smile. Dr. Frank finished running his usual battery of tests and then he sent Hillary to the chemo room. Hillary walked in said hello to the kids that she knew, "Hey Jamie love the new wig; hi Tim." Hooked up and feeling not so bad, she went

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