You didn’t know that day.
That day would be the last time you’d see the sunrise with your own eyes.
That day would be the last time you’d feel the wind caress your face.
That day would be the last time you’d smell the fading life of the falling leaves.
That day would be the last time you’d hear the songbirds outside the bedroom window you always left open.
Your house was your palace, you’d say with a warm smile.
A palace built with two sets of hands, livened with the laughter of little ones who grew up so fast, in the blink of an eye.
The walls towering above you now linger like ghosts, breathing hollow despite efforts to resurrect their emptiness.
Through the window, the sun paints the world with its heavenly hues, but its warmth melts away all too quickly.
It smells clean, too clean, and the songbirds are replaced with the chatter of endless beeping, dripping, and discussions.
Your hands reach outside the confines of your bed, searching for your lifeline to any remnants of normalcy.
You find it in familiar, smiling faces, giggles and songs from your littlest ones, and time reminiscing over long-lost tales.
In those precious hours, your world becomes larger, life expanding beyond the four walls of your new dwelling.
And just for a moment, the hourglass seems to stop, and the sand slipping through your fingers pauses in its escape.
After all, no medicine could replace the panacea of creating memories with your loved ones.
However, Time is a cruel mistress, and she marches onward, taking and taking and taking until nothing is left.
The pain increasingly gnaws at your insides, and the corners of your vision flicker as reality merges into the unknown.
You’ve never been here before, you realize, and your body can’t help but obediently march behind Time’s fleeting figure.
Your desire for food begins to fade, and nothing can satiate the cold seeping into your bones.
Your lips, once alight with quick quips and wise warnings, feel like they can hardly move.
The world is quickly fading from your sight; yet you reach out to grasp the hem of Time’s garment.
You catch a glimpse of the void beyond her figure, and there’s something-no, someone in the distance.
Your feeble fingers grip tighter, not out of fear, but out of your humanity. Not yet.
The figure in the distance moves, albeit slowly, always united with the horizon.
Their identity eludes you but somehow, somewhere, you know them.
You can hear the hushed murmurs around you during the instances you’re awake, though they’re increasingly fleeting.
Time continues to move despite your resistance, and soon you can’t move, caught in her web of sleep.
The figure on the horizon becomes clearer, and somehow, you know that your journey is ending.
Worn hands capture yours, and you can’t deny seeing the kindest eyes you’ve known in your life.
It’s been many years since you’ve seen those eyes, but you’d recognize them any day.
You stir with a start in a moment of clarity. The monitors are ever present in their synchronized symphony.
You savor one more glance around your room, one more look at your family beside you, one more whisper to them.
You hear their comforting voices as you slip underneath the waves of consciousness one last time.
You take the kind figure’s hand. Your heart rate, blood pressure, and respirations ebb and flow in your final aria.
It’s time, my dear. Let’s go. Together.
