"Ima?" I hear my youngest daughter's sweet voice on my phone, "Where are you?"
"I'm at the hospital," I tell her, marvelling at how small she sounds, over the phone.
"You're at chemotherapy?" She asks, not quite pronouncing the "r".
That's my baby, asking if I'm at chemotherapy, the way other kids ask their parents if they are at work, or the park, or at home.
I guess I should be glad that is seems so normal for her.
It's not scary.
It's not threatening.
It's just part of life.
"Yes, honey," I answer cheerfully, "I'm at chemotherapy."
"When will you be home?" she wants to know, just like every other kid.
Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.
With love and optimism,
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