Her end.

Standard

In that last moment, she was squirming and crying. I became frantic, I opened the feeding tube and let it all drain out. Adrenaline shot through my body, I called her dad. I lifted her up, I grabbed her arms and hands, trying to ask her what was wrong. She starred at me with a blank look. Was it her taking one last look at her mother? Was it her sifting through her 3 months of memories? The wait was incredible, torture. I was blowing air into her mouth, yelling her name, she was blank–dead. The workers rushed her to the small local hospital, the said she was dead  before they arrived. I had my one year-old in one arm and reached out to touch her cold, heavy body. She weighed so much more that day, in the dark room, our family passed her around for one last hug. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s