I look down at her and I remember how authors describe people lying in their death beds as at peace or beautiful. She didn’t look peaceful, she didn’t look beautiful. She looked broken, sick, dead. She had looked beautiful when she laughed, when she smiled. She had looked peaceful when she dozed of during a mid morning lesson, when she would go off into one of her day dreams but not now. Not like this.
Everyday for the past 8 years. I had stared down at that face, seen it get thinner, weaker and everyday I had died a little inside. The love she had filled my life with seemed to leave a little each day as she lay there, decaying. As the years had passed I had lost all the optimism that she had taught me to have. Except for that tiny part of me that clinged to the hope that she’d wake up.
Memories of her were like sunshine bright and warm. What I wouldn’t give to have her scream at me just so she could. Everyone told me to move on and get on with my life but how could I? When my life lay here stuck in limbo.