Remember how I used to cry every time I had to go back to university? You always told me not to be sad that I’d see you again in a few months. I knew you were sad too and I knew you held your tears back. I know my tears made you sad. Those tears may have seemed like a spur of the moment tears but they weren’t.

Every single time, leading up to say bye to you was hard. I’d count down the week I had left to hang out with you, then the days, then the hours. In bed before the day of my flight I would sleep next to you. I’d hug you and though it looked like I was sleeping, I wasn’t. I was just holding you, counting down the hours, then minutes before it would be morning and the dread comes full blast. I’d count down the distance from the house to the airport. Then the line to check in. Until the final moment I had to go through security to board my plane.

Then I would be fine.

I would switch from being your daughter to being a normal college student. Texting you occasionally to let you know how I’m doing and to ask you how you’re doing. Living my life. Forgetting the week-long anticipatory farewell sadness of saying bye.

Twice a year, two weeks out of 52, for 4 years.

Then I moved back and forgot those upsetting goodbyes. Living in the same country, the same continent, I thought I would never feel that melancholy again — the anxiety of a countdown that is inevitable, that I can’t control.

So when the doctor said 10 months that familiar sorrow came back. I’ve never wanted time to slow down more.

But rather than let days measure the end, I’m going to let the ‘I love you’s and laughing selfies be the unit.

So for the 1 millionth time, I love you mom.

You’re doing great.