Jessika Rose

The white lights flickered and the room smelled of the stench of sickness and death. Our small room was deathly quiet while the hospital thrived around us, humming and busily moving to the beat of electronic beeping and the weeping of the ill.

My mother laid still but breathing with great effort. Her skin was scarred and translucent from years of illness and her bones cast shadows down her quivering body in the artificial light. She’s been sick all my life, but this was somehow different. It chilled my bones and made me want to run for miles; out of the hospital, out of that state, out of that country, and out of that life until I finally reached a place where I had never heard of those strange diagnoses and never seen a loved one writhe in pain, praying to the god that only let her down.

The emotions I felt were chaotic and consuming; I hated her but I loved her and I was incredibly angry but I was so depressed. As I struggled to stay afloat in a sea of guilt, my bones seemed weighed down with all the painful memories of everything I had done to her; all the grief and sadness I had caused her and all those times I made her cry. Nothing made sense and I didn’t care about anything else, besides that I was about to lose her.

All hope had burnt out and the only comfort came from the unsteady rise and fall of her chest that signaled life. I had never felt so depressed, exasperated and lost as I felt that very moment; I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, but the simple fact surrounded me. It was found in everyone’s pitying eyes and in the hushed voice of my grandmother as she whispered to the Doctor outside the room.

The moment passed, as moments do, even when it seems impossible. I guess things are okay, though neither of us fully healed from the experience.
She survived, proving the diagnoses and The Doctor wrong. Again.
I lied when I told her I knew she’d make it out alive. Again.
Life slowly restarted and we created a new definition of normal. Again.

But this time I realized that life is not certain. Even when it hurts and it’s depressing, it’s all we’ve got. We can’t waste a second caught up in arguments and petty grudges, because we’ll never get that precious time back. We have to be kind to our loved ones, because their lives are uncertain as well.

We can’t fear death though, because then we live in paranoid, worry and sadness. The only thing we can do is love entirely, forgive and forget, and never leave fights unresolved. I believe we must always let our loved ones know that we love them, because you never know if that’s our last chance,…