(You can read the first two stories about Hannah's Mother here and here.)
I don’t like the dark, especially this dark. The walls are closing in. But I said I’d be here for her, until the end.
Her pulse quickens and diminishes while I hold her hand, as though her body is doing ferocious battle. Which of course, it is.
A few days ago, while she was still lucid, we shared memories from my childhood. She laughed at all the things that had driven her to despair when I was sixteen. “Time passes so quickly. You were so rebellious, and in the blink of an eye, you were a mother yourself.”
I barely remember being sixteen at all; I’d forgotten half of her stories.
Now, the silence shrouds us; only her rasping breath cuts through.
“It’s a beautiful night,” I say, standing by the window, peering into the cloudless sky. “The moon’s waning, high in the sky. The stars… there are so many stars.”
I feel a tear rolling down my cheek and wipe it away before I turn back. She’s looking out of the window, trying to see for herself. As I reach the bed, she holds my hand reassuringly, and smiles.
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