I don’t like talking about.
I never talk about.
I have tried to avoid it as much as possible.
Yet I can’t stop thinking about it.
Day 3 in hospital, lying there in a coma, my mother, a beautiful women, a courageous women, a women who fought the most incredible battle. Each night I would stay till midnight, go home and sleep, then return early the next morning.
Yet this night was different, I felt almost compelled to stay, so I did, along with two of my cousins. We sat there telling stories, holding her hand, reminiscing of all the incredible memories we had experienced together.
Holding her cold lifeless hand, tears began streaming down my face as the light inside slowly dimmed, I kept wishing for her to wake up. We all did. She always came round, she was a fighter, and she was a survivor.
Her breathing grew shallower,
The room shuddering with silence,
Not a word was said,
This crippling silence was enough,
We all knew.
Grabbing her hand tighter and whispering in her ear, trying to fight back tears I told her how much I loved her, how much I will always need her and how much I was going to miss her.
Inhale, Exhale, Inhale.
Watching a body filled with so much life slowly drift away,
Within minutes she was gone,
A life snatched away within seconds.
(2:40am~ our time of death.)