I knew my mom was dying. I just didn't think it would be this hard to sit at someone's bed side and watch breath life seep out of a person. I know, I won't be able to hear her voice again, to hear her laugh or words of advice. It's okay I suppose. I'm an adult now, I've learned what I need. I hope.
I watch my mother's waxy skin turn paler by the second. I listen to the heart rate monitor beeping slowly, less frequently. Her breathing was hardly present in her fragile, willow frame.
The monitor stopped, and my heart jolted. Goodbye to the mother I know and love.
Tears stream down my face as I speed walk through the wing of the hospital reserved specifically for cancer patients, and rush to my very first day of college.
I shouldn't be crying this much. After all, I'm an adult now.