She was diagnosed on a Friday, the kids were almost home, the kids were on their way back home from school, lying face down in the gutter of unaccomplished dreams and broken memories of things to come, "Sorry ma'am, I really am. I had to break the news. I had to make the phone call to tell you that you're due, you know where, I'll tell you when, and I suggest you start living these next three weeks, the best way that you can." Every night for three long weeks, she'd roam the hallways half asleep and as the footsteps fade away in my mind, I could swear, I could swear, I heard her say: Don't wait for me, I've got a lot to do I've got a lot to be and in the end maybe I'll see you there. Lost her strength on a saturday. Spent the day in bed. Yeah, I'm fine, it's just the flu she said with a smile, but when they turned their backs, the tears would flow. She knew she only had a while to live to breathe to see to be to bleed to stand on her own two weakened feet "and so I pray everyday: don't take my mother away" and in the end maybe i'll see you there. You know i'll see you there and in the end i'll see you there.