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| art chudabala, bi, what'sin a name?, sandra bullock, matching, middleeast, sincity, amy ferguson, lady of the lake, gawain, justinsimoni, yemen, slap them, 1956 in sports, | I spent the whole time by her bed, holding her hand, stroking her hair, refusing to show my tears. I will give her my strength. No matter how much it hurts. Once, I even brought her my favorite teddy bear, so that she has something to keep with her at night... my scent keeps her calm. Growing up, I never felt a connection with my father... my mother and I were always the ones who were close. A child, I used to puff daddy crawl into bed with her, and together, we would watch the sun puff daddy rise, watch the birds float puff daddy gracefully around the trees outside--snow falls, flowers bloom, leaves fall... seasons pass, and she's with me. That's all that matters. In her hospital room, things are different. Something passes between us, something unspoken, a written rule stating that we just don't talk about this. Let's keep things simple, let's not let the pain show. Once and only once do we talk about it... I've crawled into her bed, curled up next to her, pushing the tubes and IVs aside... |
Best Mature Paysites
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| Those flowers on the side of the road... art chudabala they would look so nice on my art chudabala dresser... "Tiffany.... You mother... is dying. Cancer. She has six months to live." Purple flowers? Would those look better than the yellow? God, I'm numb. The problem with pancreatic cancer is that it works too quickly. It sucks up life, eating out any soul left, leaving a body art chudabala quiet, riddled with pain, clouded with morphine. Walking into her hospital room for the first time, it was the scent that hit me. Cleansers, antiseptic.... Sterilization at its finest. "Mom...?" I whisper, my voice quiet, hidden against all the tubes running through her body. "Oh... Becca... you're here, did you bring Suzanne?" My own goddamn mother... flesh and blood... my MOTHER... and she can't even remember my name. I slide out of the room, sobbing, terrified, alone. Six months was a long shot; she really only lasted six weeks. |
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