My best friend’s mom has breast cancer.
She’s 52, and before her diagnosis, she had worked at the same elementary school cafeteria in Pennsylvania for 19 years.
Every child knew her.
She knew who hated peas.
Who was allergic to peanuts.
Who was having a bad day.
Then chemotherapy started.
And suddenly, the woman who had fed hundreds of children couldn’t even stand long enough to finish her shift.
The school principal told her to take as much time off as she needed.
She refused.
She said:
“If I stop coming, the kids are going to think I’m dying.”