My husband and my sister laughed while my daughter Holly was dying in a hospital bed. Then he smirked and said, “Holly had a good run. We need that money for my son with your sister.”

the remission bell.

She was thinner than other ten-year-olds, her hair growing back in soft brown curls, her face still carrying shadows no child should have. But she stood tall. She held the rope with both hands. I stood behind her with one hand over my mouth, Calvin beside me with tears running openly down his face.

Holly rang the bell three times.continue reading …