I knew I should be, but somehow, I wasn’t. I wished to be dead but instead I was suspended in a constant state of motionless. Not quite dead, but not at all living. If anyone knew that I was really here, they wouldn’t want me to suffer this way and they would’ve just let me go. They would’ve taken that God-awful ventilator out of my mouth, and they would’ve let me stop breathing, like I was meant to. If they only knew that everyday was filled with constant grieving for a life that has slowly, dreadfully, and painfully slipped away from me.
If I could look in a mirror, I know my youth has passed and that I must be an older woman by now. And though I grieve for the passing of my younger self, I grieve more for the daughter that doesn’t know me, yet feels obligated to come to my room and speak to me, every day even though she isn’t really sure if I’m there.
Still, she comes to me every day she is home, even on the most important day of her life that I can’t have any part of, her wedding day.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish