The Aftermath

Death is a choice.  Sometimes it is a fight.  You either throw in the white, bloodied towel or you keep on fighting.  

Then when the doctor asks you if you want the meds and you say, yes, then it is over, done.  

Even in the suffering there is life experienced, a preciousness.  

Saying goodbye, even after the hug, hurts.  I saw you fighting it but we subdued it.  The meds subdued it.  Why did you want death so readily?  

Why did I ever even consider suicide?  It was because of you, Kate.  It was because I wanted you so but couldn't cope without you the way I wanted you.

Granma, you are dead.  You are here.  More so, you are here, just in different forms.  Perhaps, a freedom.  Yes, a freedom.  

I do wish you had fought.  I wish I had fought for you.  

In the aftermath, I met an angel on the plane and that meeting made my moment better.

💗

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