Don't ask

Thoughts pop up into her head like mushrooms on the grass. They come and go, like wind passing. Maybe they are memories, which were locked in drawers in her head, now open by the cancer; it came and filled up her brain like a big tsunami right underneath the scalp. Maybe the dog, the names we don’t recognize, the spiders, the whispers, the girls, maybe they’re all childhood memories, forgotten a long ago and now, back.

Maybe it’s her imagination. I prefer to think so… Maybe when she’s dreaming, when she’s hallucinating, the world is better than her own. Maybe there she’s free to walk, to fly, to be happy. Maybe there, she’s not stuck on a bed, in this damn room.

All she had was her mind, and even that is now gone. Her eyes are staring into the emptiness. Her voice is hard to hear, difficult to understand. She’s fading.

You know its coming. It’s so close you can feel it. It’s okay…you let a tear fall as a sensation of serenity enters your body. It’s a moment… A moment before death. You thought you’d be scared, but you’re not. You’re in peace. You know what to do, as if your soul was programmed to shut down this kind of pain. Feel it. Know this is the last time you’ll ever see her. Hold her in your arms. Kiss her. Stop before walking away; take a mental pic of her face before it fades. Let her go.