I haven't written anything for a very long time, partly because I started school again and am terribly busy at the moment, partly because my inspiration kinda sucks right about now.
But since I deal with my emotions in poetry and (fan)fiction I found myself sitting down and writing this story today.
Feel free to tell me what you think and constructive criticism is welcome but since this is a story based on true events I recently went trough, I ask the ones of you who absolutely dislike this story not to place any rude comments.
Tu n'es plus la
She had stopped breathing about an hour ago.
It was painless and easy in comparison to what she had had undergone the last year. She'd simply closed her eyes and they'd felt the hands they were holding in their own to loosen their grip, until they remained only as a limp, barely there pressure – and simultaneously it was the heaviest both of them felt their palms be in a long time.
He had dropped her hand about half an hour ago. Standing up, he wiped at his tears, but it was no use. They just kept coming faster and harder every time he'd gotten rid of the previous ones. He'd considered calling his daughter; after all, she had a right to know. Dragging his hands over his tired face, scrubbing once again at his red and swollen eyes, he decided not to. It could wait – had to.
She wasn't living with them anymore, had started her own life a few years ago. He wasn't sure if she was at work or with her boyfriend. He didn't even know what time it really was. Hasn't glanced at a clock for hours, never taking his eyes off of her, just occasionally and briefly sharing glances with the woman sitting on the opposite side of the bed.
He felt her soft touch on his shoulder, turned around to burry his head in her neck, they both letting their tears fall freely. They clung to one another. Not holding back anything. They had to get a grip on their own emotions – at least a bit – before doing anything.
There was no way he'd be able to have a conversation with his daughter at the moment, telling her she'd died.
They were naïve to believe they could fight this. In the end, the only thing they did was prolong the pain and the ache they felt in their own hearts. They knew, cancer wasn't curable but that didn't stop them from trying to achieve the impossible. Had they caught her worsening situation, the ever spreading pancreatic cancer just a few months earlier, there had been hope. Hope to let her have another few years without constant pain and visits to her doctor. But they hadn't. And that's what makes it even harder on them.
It wasn't like it was with him. After his diagnosis they'd almost believed it was over. Because they knew cancer wasn't curable. But they caught the intestinal cancer at an early stage, giving him five whole more years with his family.
But, no! It wasn't like that with her.
Because she'd stopped breathing about an hour ago. Not even an entire year after she received her diagnosis.
She'd spent the last two weeks in hospital. Once again. After another fainting fit, leaving her with almost no breath left in her lungs, to survive on her own. There wasn't a single day her family hadn't been there for her, visiting, staying way longer than visiting hours would allow until they were politely asked to leave.
Just a few hours ago, their daughter had cried her eyes out, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a hand in her own, that was way too thin and weak for a living person. But then again, they all knew they couldn't really call living.
They all knew, they were nearing the end, but that hadn't lessened the pain when it eventually happened.
They had to call her. They had to call their daughter, letting her know her grandmother had in the end lost her fight with her medical condition.
She had stopped breathing about an hour ago.