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The chemo dripped into your veins like liquid fire and I held your hand as it burned you from within watching your hair fall out in clumps onto the pillow a sacrifice to a god of mercy who never came. Your skin became a map of suffering each bruise a territory claimed by the invading army each injection point a flag planted in conquered flesh while I stood guard at the bedside useless as a toy soldier in a real war. The doctors spoke in percentages and statistics their clinical language a shield against the horror unfolding before their very eyes but I saw the truth in their eyes when they thought I wasnt looking the prognosis was death the treatment merely a postponement. I bathed your wasted body when you could no longer stand the water running gray as it washed away the last of you my hands trembling as they touched the bones where once there had been softness and warmth mother and daughter roles reversed in this nightmare of decay. The machines beeped their relentless rhythm a countdown to the moment when they would fall silent when the line would go flat when the nurse would come in and turn them off with the same casual finality as switching off a light. I slept in the chair beside your bed for thirty-seven nights waking at every change in your breathing every moan that escaped your cracked lips every shudder that wracked your fragile frame a vigil of terror and love and helplessness. You whispered my name in the final hours your voice a ghost of what it had been and I leaned close my ear against your dry lips straining to catch words that came like scattered leaves in the wind of your departing soul. Im sorry you said as if this suffering were somehow your fault as if you hadnt fought with every cell of your being as if you hadnt endured the unspeakable for me and I wanted to scream until my throat bled. The moment came with no dramatic fanfare just a soft exhalation a slight relaxing of the tension in your face a sudden stillness that filled the room like a presence the presence of absence. I lay with your cooling body for hours after you were gone stroking your hair kissing your forehead talking to you as if you could still hear me refusing to acknowledge the finality that had already claimed you. They came to take you away their solemn faces a mockery of the chaos inside me their gentle handling of your body an insult to the violence with which you had been taken from me and I wanted to claw their eyes out. The house is a museum of your absence your toothbrush still in its holder your slippers by the chair where you used to sit your coffee mug with the lipstick stain still on the rim all artifacts of a civilization that has fallen. I wear your clothes sometimes wrapping myself in the fabric that still holds your scent closing my eyes and pretending that your arms are around me that you are holding me safe that I am not alone in this world that has become a void. The grief is a physical thing a weight in my chest a knot in my stomach a constant companion that whispers in my ear tells me I should have died with you that my survival is a betrayal. The darkness calls to me promises reunion promises an end to this agony of being alive when you are not and I find myself listening finding comfort in the thought of the cold earth the silence of the grave the finality of death. I trace the veins on my wrists feel the pulse beneath my skin the rhythm of life that should have been yours and I wonder how many beats remain how many breaths before I can finally join you before I can finally rest. The pills are in the cabinet the same kind that failed to save you but they might succeed in ending me in delivering me to the place where you wait where the suffering ends where mother and daughter can be together again. I think of you often of your smile of your laugh of the way you said my name and the memories are both comfort and torture a reminder of what Ive lost of what I can never have again. The world keeps tur

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Виктория 11.07.2026 08:23