Picture the moment when your mom and dad first saw you as something other than a pretty, tiny version of them. You as them, but improved. Better educated. Innocent. Then picture when you stopped being their dream.

We all want to explain ourselves. Nobody wants to be forgotten.

We kind of deny the stages of life.

Anything you can aquire is only another thing you'll lose.

Her mom and dad are both doctors and want her to follow her dream, not turn out the way they have, no matter how much it costs them.

Could you hold the chainsaw a bit closer to your mouth, please?

This is why I loved the support groups so much, if people thought you were dying, they gave you their full attention. If this might be the last time they saw you, they really saw you. Everything else about their checkbook balance and radio songs and messy hair went out the window. You had their full attention. People listened instead of just waiting for their turn to speak. And when they spoke, they weren't just telling you a story. When the two of you talked, you were building something, and afterward you were both different than before.