It just walks in dressed however it wants. My mother and sister died after prolonged illnesses. There is something strange about watching the deterioration of a vibrant woman that shakes me to my core. Because I see the person they were, then I see the person they are.

Terminal illness plucks away at a person. It’s strips this ability and that thread of dignity here and there, until it is just an unbearable weight. You don’t want to lose the person you love, but you don’t want them to suffer. You hate yourself for wanting it to be over and you hate yourself because it’s happening to them and…