This can’t be happening!
No…no, no, NO!!!
“Mom… I’m here. I’m right here,” I cry, holding her hand tightly, my forehead against the back of her warm hand.
You’d think someone on the verge of death would have cold hands, at least that’s what I expected, but no. They are as warm as ever before.
They gave her a year.
She was supposed to have at least a year.
Not six weeks!
Her eyes roll open for a second. Only once, but it was enough to let me know she knew I was by her side.
“I’m sorry, mom. I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I repeat over and over again.
We’ve had a rocky past, things were left unsaid for so long. And now, I won’t ever be able to make them right.
I’m so scared of losing her, that I can’t bring myself to tell her that I’m sorry for being so mean to her. For losing my patience when I didn’t want to listen to her. For not being there for her, even though I was mad and upset with her.
I can’t even bring myself to tell her that I love her.
But I do!
The devastation I felt this morning when I got the call left me numb.
I drove on autopilot from school to the hospital. I could have run a red light and I don't think I'd have ever noticed.
The clock ticks loudly in the room with every haggard breath she takes.
Slower and slower as time tik's, tik's, tik's.
Then she let out a deep breath, not taking another one in.
I think at that moment, my heart stopped too.
I straightened up in my chair, still holding her hand while the nurse listened to her heart.
I waited and waited, seconds felt like hours until the nurse removed her stethoscope.
“She’s gone.” The nurse confirms, breaking my trans.
I let out a strangled cry, letting go of her hand and covering my mouth, trying to muffle my oncoming sobs.
My father rushed back into the room from getting a cup of water, engulfing me in his arms.
We cry and cry until we can barely breathe.
My mother is gone.
She's gone.
Gone... and so am I.
Aksara