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call them when there’s any news.”
    “Okay. I’ll keep a list of who calls.”
    “Thank you, Sunny.”
    Dad disappeared into Mom’s room, and now I’m sitting by the phone with my journal and a pad of legal paper. We have two other pads going too. One is a list of things people have sent —
    flowers and food. The other is a list of cads and letters. We’re not answering them now. Even Aunt Morgan said we don’t have to do that. But after Mom dies we will send a note to each and every person who wrote to Mom. And we will thank people for anything they sent.
    11:49 A.M.
    Suddenly these lists have become the focus of my being. I am obsessed with making sure
    they’re accurate, completely, up-to-date. Are the lists easier to focus on than Mom right now?
    High Noon
    Speaking of High Noon, boy would I like to watch an old movie right now. Just kick back with Dawn and an enormous bowl of popcorn, sit up for hours laughing and crying and imagining.
    12:04 P.M.
    I can’t believe I’m fantasizing about watching movies with Dawn at a time like this. WHAT IS
    WRONG WITH ME?
    12:14 P.M.
    The phone just rang and it was Rebecca from Mom’s cancer support group.
    “How’s she doing?” Rebecca asked me.
    I told her the truth. “Not well. The doctor said she probably only has until today or tomorrow.”
    “Could I come see her?”
    A tough decision. Rebecca is certainly not one of Mom’s older friends; she’s a very new friend.
    But she’s also a very close friend.
    I could feel my chest tightening. First I had told Dad I wanted this telephone job. I had even felt excited about it. Now the second I had to make a tough decision I started feeling mad. And I had to be mad at somebody, so I chose Dad, since he asked me if I wanted the job.
    Is Rebecca one of the people who gets to come over or not? I couldn’t decide. Then I thought of a different question, and suddenly everything became clear to me and I stopped being mad at Dad. Would Mom want to say good-bye to Rebecca? That was what Dad had asked me to think about earlier.
    Yes, I decided.
    “Yes,” I said to Rebecca. “Can you come over right away?”
    “Of course.”
    “And Dad says visitors can only stay for a few minutes.”
    “Okay. I’ll be right here.”
    I have to say that I am kind of proud of myself for how I am handling this task that Dad trusted me with.
    12:38 P.M.
    Oh god. Once again I have to ask WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? How can I be thinking about
    what kind of job I’m doing while Mom is in the next room dying? There must be something vastly wrong with me. I’m some kind of aberration.
    12:44 P.M.
    Another thought. Dad didn’t say anything about this, but there are a few people I should probably call and tell to come over quickly. It would be awful if someone wanted to say good-bye to Mom, someone Mom would have wanted to say good-bye to, and the person called too
    late.
    I started a new list. People I should call right now. I tried to keep the list as short as possible. At the top I wrote Dawn and under that Carol and Jack. They could all stop by when Dawn came home from school. No, that won’t work. Carol and Jack will still be at work. Besides, what if Mom dies while Dawn is at school? Should I call her at school? Right now? Should I call Carol and Jack at work?
    This is getting out of hand.
    I don’t know what to do.
    12:56 P.M.
    What I should do is forget the stupid lists and go sit with Mom myself.
    1:10 P.M.
    She’s getting weaker. She’s hardly with us anymore. I just held her hand for a bit, then left.
    1:29 P.M.
    Rebecca’s here. Dad let her into Mom’s room, and he and Aunt Morgan and the nurse came out.
    They sat down in the kitchen and Aunt Morgan realized that none of us had done anything about lunch. Even Aunt Morgan forgot this time.
    “Does anyone want lunch?” she asked. (A first.)
    “No,” Dad and I said at the same time. (It isn’t like we never eat. The thing is, people keep coming by with food. There’s stuff