“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

— Dylan Thomas

Fifteen years ago, doctors told my mother she had about six months to live.

Clearly, they had no idea who they were dealing with. No one in my family goes down without a fight.

We hoped for the best and braced for the worst as Mom went through radiation treatments and a couple of other procedures — but no chemotherapy and no major “ectomies” were required before she was declared cancer-free. She had won!

Since then, she and Dad have enjoyed cruises to Alaska and Norway, helped me nurture their grandson into an amazing young man, proudly attended my brothers’ wedding, and celebrated their own 50th anniversary (and then some).

But somewhere along the way, the cancer returned. Before we knew it, it had settled into various bones all through her body, introducing her to levels of pain no one should ever have to endure. Yet she never gave up.

Over the past decade or so, Mom has tried one form of therapy after another: hormones, chemo, more radiation. Each worked for a few months or even years before it ceased to be effective and she had to switch to a different one.

Some of the treatments made her intensely ill; some made her lose some of her hair (though she never lost it all); and, thankfully, some had almost no side effects. But the best any of them did was to curtail the cancer’s spread for a while. It has stubbornly refused to go away this time.

Yet Mom has soldiered on, fueled primarily by a loving husband, absolute determination — and, of course, her sense of humor. Through it all, she’s continued to joke with her doctors and nurses, with her family, with complete strangers who happen to be nearby. She’s always been able to make others laugh, even at her lowest points. It’s one of the innumerable things I love and will always remember about her.

But even the best among us can fight only so long before we’re exhausted. I fear Mom is nearing that point. It scares the hell out of me, and I’m pretty sure it scares the hell out of her too.

So I’m writing this to tell her that I love her.

… That I’m deeply grateful she decided to be a full-time mom for me and my brother.

… That I am the strong, literate, wisecracking woman I am because of her.

… That her love of animals and appreciation of nature’s beauty have always inspired me.

… That I will never be as good a cook as she is, though she’s taught me quite a lot.

… That she was always right about the men I chose to spend time with (dammit).

… That she has kicked ass and taken names in this life, and it’s OK to allow herself to rest if she chooses to.

… That I will talk to her every day, just as she has talked to her mother daily since she passed some 40 years ago.

… And that she is part of me, and always will be.

Kat Bryant is lifestyle editor of The Daily World. She’s both grateful and annoyed that she’s so much like her mother. Reach her at kbryant@thedailyworld.com or on Facebook at Kat Bryant-DailyWorld.