You Can't Take My Son

Fighting cancer is the ultimate chess game. No one I had ever met would have been able to tolerate three years of bone cancer and its horrifying onslaughts. The night before his hospital admission I found him sitting on the edge of his bed. I could tell he was quitting. He had had enough. I began to rub his shoulders. His bones sharply protruding, obstructed the smooth flow of my hand. After a few minutes I turned, dropped to my knees, and faced him. His jaw bones were vivid, accentuated by...