Behind each face of composure and solidarity, someone is asking for help. Beneath each breath of half hearted okays, there is a cry for attention. But what happens when that face of composure and solidarity is your mother. And those okay's are her apathetic attempt to make the fact that her own mother is dying seem less agonizing than it truly is. To watch one's mother suffer, makes you bleed. It's apparent that it's a cyclical affect. I bleed raw because my mom is in pain. Her heart is battered and therefore mine is too. And because my grandmother's dying, my mother is too. Perhaps it's because at one point we were one. I breathed, sensed, fumbled, touched everything she did when i was not yet born.
So as i sit her and she lays miles away at her mother's bedside, I clutch my heart. Yet I hope in some way I can breathe life into the lungs of her sadness. Fill her with the strength to make it through the the coming days as her mother slips through her fingers. And when she's ready I will hold her in my arms and let her weep. We will weep together. For she is my best friend. And when in my life when I will have to let her go - when I will no longer be able to hear or feel her laughter - my heart will no longer be full. I know in that moment I will understand what she must feel. In that moment. a daughter will have lost her mother - her companion.
******there are better words for this. there are better sentences that i can and will string together. but right now it's not all there yet. right now i'm still at a loss for words, for understanding
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