I want to be a selfish bitch.
But I bite my tongue.
I want to kick and scream and raise a fuss.
But I don’t, I stay quiet.
I want to charge in, guns blazing and kick some cancer ass.
But I can’t, I’m not strong enough.
My Granny Rose is dying, I can no longer deny it. She is dying.
I want to shake the doctor and tell her to DO SOMETHING!
But instead I tearfully nod in understanding as she tells my Granny “I can’t fix you.”
I wanted to beg the hospital to keep her, to give her something to fight the cancer that is eating away at her.
But instead we agree to her wishes to go home.
I want to put my hands over my ears to block out the sound of the hospice nurses voice reminding us not to pound on her chest or try to force air into Granny’s lungs if we see her start to slip away.
But instead I tuck the reminder away, knowing we will face that.
I want to plead with Granny Rose to not give up, to keep fighting.
But instead I hold her hand and tell her to not be afraid.
I want to do SOMETHING, anything to keep her with us longer.
But I realize those somethings would be selfish, they’d be for me. The best “something” I can give her now is love and comfort as she lets go.
But oh, I don’t want to let go.