He spoke bluntly. Not because he didn’t want to spend a lifetime with his sister. But so we can all start preparing for the inevitable. It’s the last thing we want. We have been clinging to hope for too long but the prognosis won’t change, he said. It’s metastatic cancer after all. If we have a day, a week, a month, we are lucky. Every single minute with her is all we want. Yet to be unresponsive once more is heartbreaking, almost like a fresh cut every time especially for her mother. It doesn’t mean things are getting better or they ever will. It just means we need to accept the end. Though it’s the last thing we want. I listened, knowing he was being objective, but still clinging to hope. It’s the only thing we have. If she was here with us, he would send her over to hospice. It’s the last thing we truly want. Though he can’t talk about it with those that love her, including her mother, he knows that it’s the only way. Losing hope too is the last thing we need. The end is near. We know. But we will keep fighting. It is a fight after all. And doing so together is all we have.