The last couple of weeks were a test of strength to me. I feared to lose my mother, who is the only close family member I have.
These weeks included a cancer diagnosis and surgery for her, and many days at her hospital bedside for me. A time about which I don't find much to tell: there is nothing entertaining or exciting about a hospital room, and nothing to do but to wait and hope.
I was surprised at my own patience sometimes, the ability to wait until she woke up after one of her many short, exhausted naps, and pick up our conversation where it had stopped. I was able to give her hope, whenever her fears grew too big, and to make her laugh whenever she felt depressed.
After weeks of waiting for the surgeons' verdict, finally they brought good news: The operation was successful, there was no more cancer to be found. My mother is back at home now, slowly and steadily healing and getting stronger again.
And only now I feel exhausted, battered and very, very tired.