I see her old and frail and sick. Barely able to articulate anything. Shaky. Disoriented. This is what it comes down to, after ninety years of living: being a child, but without the perks. Slowly disintegrating.
Seeing her feels like a gut punch. Every time. A gut punch of pain and guilt pangs.
I can’t imagine what must go through her mind. I can’t imagine how it feels. Or what my father feels.
God, please, please, please give her health. Please, please, please give both my parents the strength, both physical and mental, to help her as much as possible. Please, please, please.