2 years ago today, I arrived at the hospital, like I had for the last 3 weeks, knowing the end was near.
I walked into my mom’s room where she laid in the same position as the day before, with her eyes closed, breathing heavily. Her medication was on it's highest dosage, locked in a clear plastic box just in case anyone felt the need to steal.
Jimmy, her fiance, had his head buried in a book. At the time I was annoyed for this. Now, I understand his need to escape the pain.
Bunches of flowers were withered, bags of junk food and bottled war half emptied throughout.
The room smelled of mom, the lotion she was known for, something like exotic coconut.
The blinds were open, shining natural light onto mom, casting long dark shadows beyond her body.
A pack n' play was floated around the family room the babies to nap in while we stayed day and night at the hospital watching, waiting, hoping, sometimes praying.
Like I had researched online after the hospice nurse alerted us, her feet showed signs of mottling. Her skin was blotchy with tones of gray telling me that her heart was no longer pumping blood properly.
I was tired, relieved, scared, heartbroken.
It was my [step] dad's birthday.