An impressionist painting is how I see my mum. She is without definition and muted. The colors are still there, yet she is fading into the picture of herself. She was just talking to a friend, her vibrancy was on stage for the moment, and learned an older woman in her church had died. Mom hoped they’d stop for a while (there have been a few in the last months. ) and I wanted to cry. Her oncologist says she will be well by the end of of summer. He had said by summer, but has moved things back a bit. She is breathing a lot better, which is his goal. Her body is weak and she has lost a great deal of weight. Others in the medical profession also see her as fading. Only time will tell.