My mother died of leukemia when I was sixteen years old. In the months leading up to her death, I didn't visit her in the hospital. I went once but after sitting in my car in the parking lot for thirty minutes, I left without going in. I just couldn't. I was not capable of dealing with what was happening. Eventually, I'd be hurried to her bedside regardless: for fear she was not going to make it through the night. I remember the nurse coming into the waiting room quickly and saying, "She's awake!"