kindasean

So I visited her today.

I had heard she lost 15 pounds already and underneath her thin jacket I could kind of see it gone, and she shuffled over to me, gave me a hug--a frail one, and sat back down.

I looked at her, and she looked back at me.

We did not want to talk about the fact that she is dying. But we had to. And she started wiping at her eyes, while trying to make jokes. And they worked--kind of.

She looked down at her lap, and told me she was already losing her hair. I offered to shave it off for her when she was ready.

She wiped her eyes again.

I remember each time I ended up in the hospital for trying so hard to die, and she would be by my bed, holding my hand, comforting me. She was always there.

And now...

We might have 6 months. We might have 3 weeks. We might have 4 hours.

I am starting to need a drink.