Last year’s April 16th wasn’t Easter or any major holiday, it was just an ordinary Saturday. Before that day, there were plenty of other days, ordinary days, I chose not to think about death. Every time I did think about death, fear would invade every aspect of my life. Whenever I think about death, it becomes an obsession. The what, when, where, why, how questions would flood my brain to the point of keeping me idle and isolated as to avoid anything that could possibly kill me. So, I did my best and I deferred.

But April 16, 2016 was one of those days I didn’t think I’d remember, but one picture brings a plethora of memories and emotions.

Because for the first time in my mother’s diagnosis, I thought of death. Her death.