White
White walls, white bed, white lights everything the same shade of white, even my daughter's skin as she lies down in the white sheets of the hospital bed, the only sound is constant beeping of the heart monitor. I grasp her cold, white hand tightly, as if willing her to get better just using the power of touch. The chair that I'm sitting on is uncomfortable, but I will myself not to move, my baby needs me. I listen to the sound of her shallow breathing.
...
As the sunlight seeps through the window on my daughter's pale face, her eyes begin to flutter open, I grasp her hand tighter.
"Hi baby" I whisper leaning in to see her bright eyes and squeeze her hand to show her that I'm there.
"Hi" Her voice rasps back.
My daughter is only eight years old and yet she is confined to a hospital bed, condemned to be constantly prodded and poked by countless needles and by countless doctors. As the day draws to its end, I can see that her energy has been zapped away and she is completely exhausted. I hold her hand.
"I'm going to go to sleep soon Mummy" she says in a whisper that only I can hear.
"That's ok baby, you go to sleep" I whisper back, holding back the tears that are threatening to fall from my eyes.
"Goodbye" she closes her eyes.
The constant beeping from the heart monitor stopped and my baby never opened her eyes again.
She never wakes up.