The quiet in the house was deafening.

Time slowed to a crawl as it slipped away quietly.

Her breaths were shallow, unable to sustain life.

I remember her mouth so dry from lack of water.

Sleep was the only thing she consumed.

And all I could do was wait…

Closing my eyes at night was painful.

Opening them in the morning hurt even more.

I always wondered, “Is this the day?”

Her eminent death seemed almost to be taunting.

It consumed every corner of the house, every fiber of my soul.

And all I could do was wait…

Her skin was cold and wet from perspiration.

Her only movements were occasional twitches of her hands and feet.

I prayed, “I hope she’s at least dreaming in color.”

Every smile felt like the worst of betrayals.

Even the faintest of sounds seemed piercing and invasive.

And all I could do was wait…

Somehow, as empty as it was, it didn’t feel like the end at first.

It felt sleepy and spent and decided but not quite final.

I held my own breath as I counted hers as she slept.

I slipped her hand into mine for conversations that were never returned.

I kissed her face…not for goodbye but for love.

And all I could do was wait…

Mama felt broken and tired and sad.

She fought just to barely be alive day after day.

Until she didn’t anymore.

Until she made the decision that her time had come.

Until she chose to die.

And all I could do was wait.