And then she looked at me, through tear-filled eyes and asked softly, “But when you die. What happens when you die?” I choked back tears, fighting the urge to cry. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Here was this girl, this child, who was much worse off then me. She wasn’t crying; I wouldn’t either. “I don’t-” I began, then stopped. I didn’t know. I wanted to reach out and hug her, wash away all her fears, but I was afraid I would break her. She looked so fragile, like one tiny breath would smash her into a thousand pieces. She looked up at me, her big, brown eyes looking deep into mine. It was unnerving, as if she was staring into my soul. I was afraid to look back, afraid to see what she had seen. I looked away, ashamed. She coughed softly, then lay back onto the hospital sheets, her face pale. Suddenly, a rasping sound came from her throat. I looked up – right into her eyes. They were a milky white, and I knew that she couldn’t see me. I screamed as she continued to choke, gasping at the air. Her body shuddered violently, spasming out of control. “Help! Somebody – anybody!” I screamed until nurses ran into the room, pushing me aside. “No – wait, she needs me – wait!” They took me by my wrists and pulled me from her bedside, I struggled, against the nurses; and the need to cry. I would not cry. I would be strong - for her. They pulled me into the waiting room as I continued to scream. I collapsed on the sofa, the tears flowing down my face. I couldn’t stop them. I lied there, wishing this was a dream. I knew my daughter was in the room next to me, dying. Without me. Alone. I did not know what time it was when they told me to visit her for the last time. I didn’t care. I felt like days later, but it could have only been a few minutes. I sat beside her bedside, holding her hand. It was cold as ice. I kept repeating, “I’m here, mummy’s here.” while I wished with all my heart that she wasn’t in any pain. Suddenly, she sat up straight, her eyes staring straight ahead. She looked past me, her eyes glazed. Her whole body tensed, her hand pulling away from me, her legs to her chest. Then she relaxed, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she slumped forwards, her head on the sheets. That was it. In two seconds, everything I lived for was gone. Nurses came rushing into the room as they lead me out. I didn’t care. I let them help me out. I didn’t even notice I was in the waiting room again. I didn’t notice when they offered me food or water. I suddenly felt very tired. Overcome by the exhaustion, I slumped in a chair, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. When the first beams of light streamed through the small window above my head, I stirred. For a minute I was disorientated. I had no idea where I was, and that shocked me. I wondered aloud whether or not my daughter was up. I called her name softly, then, as I looked up at the pale blue walls, it all came flooding back to me. My daughter was not coming back. My daughter was not ever going to sit on my lap, or laugh with me again. My daughter was dead. My daughter was dead. The words echoed in my mind, screaming them at me like daggers. A scream of agony escaped from my throat, filling the room with the echo. I collapsed on the floor, still screaming. I glowered at the pale blue walls, I was angry at everything. The walls were too blue, too relaxing. They didn’t fit here. The glass of coloured jellybeans sat on the bench in the corner. They were too colourful, too bright. Too happy. Nothing should be happy here. I reached out and grabbed the glass throwing it onto the floor in my blind anger. I needed to go home. To go somewhere familiar. Maybe it wouldn’t seem so real then. As I reached my car, I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. “Don’t drive. It would be tragic if something happened to you too.” I shrugged off the hand, not looking into the face of the nurse. “I’m fine.” I mumbled. She shrugged. “It’s your life I guess.” Then she walked away. I stared at my car, and then kicked it angrily. I hated everything. I decided to walk home, to give me something to do. I knew that when I got home I would just sit there, doing nothing. As I walked in front of the row of shops, people walked past me without a glance, laughing and talking happily, oblivious to my pain. Nobody even stopped to ask me how I was. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, looking up briefly at the brightly lit shop. I noticed the red and green decorations in the window, and frowned, confused. Then I remembered. Christmas. I sighed, sad. I had forgotten that the world still continued its daily routines. I realized that everyone walking past me didn't know anything about my life, about my pain. I walked through the laughter and sunshine to get home, ignoring everyone. It didn’t seem happy to me. Even though there was laughter and joy all around, I knew there was something missing. My daughter.
I walked through the door of my house, and I realized that it was quiet. A sob of grief escaped me, as I walked s lowly to my room, collapsing on the bed. My daughter was dead, she was never coming back. She was never coming back.
0_o A Moment Of Healing... In A Blog.
8 years ago