M❤M

Mom, I hope you don’t mind that I let you slip away. I can't help but feel like it may have been against your wishes. I admit I was a little put off when I heard that you asked them to intubate you again. You must have realized that the respirator wasn't going to fix anything. The cascade of events your body experienced over your final week was catastrophic, and I don’t understand why you kept fighting. Your body was shutting down for good. Letting that machine breathe for you was like an old record player stuck at the end of the album with the arm hovering by the label in the center. Spinning and spinning indefinitely until a hand reaches down to lift the needle off the vinyl and perch the arm on its silent resting place. My hand.

For whom were you holding on? In this condition you wouldn't be attending any graduations or weddings. The girls would not have liked seeing you perpetually connected to so many tubes. Now, the old pictures and the memories remind us of the many happy times you gave us. The joy in your eyes whenever you sat with your granddaughters comforts us all. I know you never wanted to be a burden. So I let you go. I told you that everything would be okay as you left. And it still is.

It is not goodbye when you remain so close to my heart. I love you, mom.