How do you cope with pain this deep, how can life continue as it always has?

The insanity of her thoughts frightened her; the immensity of the hospital sobered her

What if her mom never left these walls, what if her beautiful brown eyes never saw her on her wedding day?

Outside the large hospital windows a beautiful fall day was coming to a close; the ground was an array of yellow, red, and orange

It had been a month of this, trips to the hospital after work

Sitting in silence next to her hospital bed, watching while she painfully slept

A month of ups and downs, of promises and pleading

A month of watching this scene from the waiting room window, long enough to pick a favorite seat

A month of watching other families cope with loss and celebrate victory, long enough to wonder what her mother's fate held

Mom couldn't talk now; there was a contraption of some sort that prevented anything but eye blinks and gurgles

How long would that last, would she ever hear her speak again?

A few days ago she had worn her hair in a ponytail, then spent fifteen minutes deciphering incoherent words from her mother

In the end her request was simple, wear your hair down

It was down today, a mass of curls that rippled down her back

Weeks before that when she had a voice, mom begged her to take her home

Wires were being unhooked and her mother's faded brown eyes were furious and demanding as she asked the impossible.

Thank God for big brothers, she remembered his strong hands removing her from her mother's bedside

And his stern voice telling mom that she could not go home, that she must settle down

Today had been a blur, "today I'm going to have the machines turned off"

Her dad had called her, "can you wait until after work"

"Five o' clock", the words were final

She knew this decision was hard, she could hardly be surprised

Her mom had begged for it to end, no more surgeries

"Okay mom, no more, one way or another you are done suffering", she managed not to break when she said those words

Someone was tapping her bringing her back to reality; it must be time to head back to the room

She won't feel anything; she may take moments or days to pass away

Sitting there amidst her brothers and father she held her mother's hand, prayed it would not last long

They doctors said she wouldn't, but she squeezed her hand

Not even an hour later, she was gone

There was a small sense of joy, knowing she was done hurting

But it was small and fleeting, overshadowed by the enormity of losing her

The sun was gone now; the walk to the car was silent except for the crunching of the leaves

These were the first steps of many, on the journey of living without her.