Letting Her Go

She came to find me last night, shakily making her way up the stairs seeing only blurred shadows now through her  non-seeing eyes and when she found me she put her head against my knee, her body trembling as if to say, “I can’t do this”.  I knelt down and took her head in my hands and pulled her close trying to ease the shaking.

When she was settled on her blanket in my bedroom and falling asleep, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing, I whispered,

“You can go now.  Float away.  Just go, like this.”

She awoke several times in the night and I stood with her in the garden whilst she staggered in circles trying to purge her body of whatever it is that is causing her such discomfort and as I crept back into bed I knew that there would be no fairy tale ending of finding her lying in the sunshine in her favourite spot in the garden or peacefully in her bed when we came down to breakfast.

The difficulty lies not only in saying goodbye but in acknowledging the loss of all that she represented.  Perhaps her aged body will rally once again and win.  Perhaps we will have one last summer together.  But soon it will be time to make a decision, the kindest one of all otherwise there will be no gentle floating, induced or otherwise.  And still I pray not to have to bear the responsibility of that dreaded phone call hoping  that one of these days soon she will find the strength to heave one last breath and just gently float away.