unknown.
I have been on my Christmas break for roughly 10 days, and have already read two books, the kind I like best: nonfiction, sad, challenging. Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I've Loved by Kate Bowler and The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan are both memoirs by women in their 30s (like me), with young children (like me), who were diagnosed with cancer (please please never like me please). They write beautifully about their journeys: knowing something was wrong, receiving a diagnosis, rounds upon rounds of chemo, tentatively celebrating the next clean scan. But the most searing part of each book was how these mothers wrote about their children. The tantrums over who hit who, the snuggling up with books before bed, the strewn about toys just waiting to be stepped on, the magical way that children see time, the devastation of knowing how much will be missed if cancer wins. Selfless maternal love wishes desperately that Jolene will not become a ch...