She died.
My mother died.
She was 40.
A tumour.
A stupid tumour.
The doctors said it was gone.
Then they said she was pregnant.
The pregnancy triggered something.
The tumour came back.
And grew.
And grew.
Then she died.
And my baby brother.
Dad isn't the same.
Grandma isn't the same.
I'm not the same.
She died.
My mother died.
