When I was seven years old my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. For this type of cancer the survival rate is low. My family was devastated.

I was too young to understand. I had no idea that every day with my mom had to be the absolute best because we didn’t know if it would be our last. I didn’t understand why everyone was suddenly taking time out of their busy lives to come over and sit on our couch. I just knew that my family was closer than ever.

The doctors put my mom on chemotherapy. I was told, “Mommy is going to lose all her hair,” “Mommy is sick, let her sleep,” “Mommy can’t come to the dance recital; she’s tired.” I was sad that she was missing everything. I was sad that even when she did have the strength to pull herself out of bed, you could see she was so sick. Still, at seven I had no idea how sick.

The doctors told us my mom might survive with surgery. But it could also kill her. She agreed to have it. The surgery was scheduled for the day after Columbus Day.

The day before the surgery I had off from school, and my mom planned the best day of my life, everything I loved at seven. Everything that she knew would put a smile on my face. I didn’t realize that the best day of my life with my best friend was a day that she was really scared since it could be her last. She was making a special memory for me. This could be the last day I would remember with her, the last one we shared.

The day began with her waking me up saying, “Kate, I have a surprise for you. Come see.” The surprise was a doll I had wanted for the longest time and a locket. Throughout the day, she told me everything that she thought I would need to know to grow up and be a good person; she told me to be the best I could be and that I would always make her proud. We had a picnic in the park, and it was so cold that we moved to the car. The day was filled with laughter. For the first time in a long time I could see she was happy. Really happy. I would never forget her smile, or the way her eyes lit up as if we were the same age. It was the best day of my life, and I will never forget the conversations we shared, which I didn’t realize were intentional.

The day passed and with the next day, it was time for the surgery. There were no tears; I think I understood that I could lose my mom, because they did tell me she could die. We waited all day for news from the doctor. Everyone jumped when a door opened or anyone walked into the waiting room. Finally the doctor came in, and the news was what we had prayed for.

The experience that my family went through was truly a roller coaster. I will never forget that day together, and how her illness pulled our family closer. I understand now how lucky we were. I truly appreciate life and honor my mom for being so strong.