People tell me that I am extremely lucky. I have a high paying job in the medical field, I have free housing, and I have one of the most respected positions in the world.
People also think I'm crazy when I tell them of the children's eyes. The squeeze of their hand on mine before they fade away. The way they walk. Some walk with their head high, refusing to give in until the last moments. Some walk shuffling their feet, trying to delay what is to come. Tithes walk as if they were sauntering across a stage to get a diploma or award. But no matter how they walk in, they all are the same. This haunts me. I cannot even express how I feel, for my co-workers and family will think I'm even more senile than they realized. But don't even think for a moment that that's what I am.
They are the last person they see as they slowly but painlessly die. I like to think they understand my pain, that they will forgive me for standing by as they get cut into pieces. I can see it in their face though, the way they look at me. Begging. Pleading. Giving up. I can see that they have been defeated, unloved, and labeled. I think the labeling is the worst. That one word that they are all called. The one word that has caused them to be by my side. That word that follows them until their last moments. Unwind.