We've been fighting since we were girls in the backyard, over the last corn-on-the-cob at Grandma's annual summer picnic. You'd think things might get better as we got older, but they didn't. We are still as quarrelsome as ever, still as stubborn, still as petty.
Today she tripped and hit her head. She told me she was going to lie down, and I rolled my eyes and told her to take it like a man. At dinnertime, she was still in her room, so I went to yell at her to come before the food got cold. She didn't wake up.
Now she's in the hospital and I'm still fighting with her. I'm fighting with her to live. See, the doctors say she's in a coma and her brain is bleeding in two places. They say she'll be lucky to last until her daughter Emma gets here. So I'm fighting with her, because this is not the time or the way to go.
She's stubborn as ever, but I sure hope she'll listen this time.
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