Playing God.

A crack of thunder lit the night sky purple, as tears from heaven rolled down the hospital window. The reflection of my mom broken on her death bed. A ventalalor kept body alive but her mind was gone. As her chest raised and lowered in union with the machine. Once her body skinny and fragile, now misconfigured by infection due to gross neglect. Her liver was failing. Her kidneys stopped working. Her blue eyes were covered with jaundice that swelled out beyond her eye lids. Her right leg was swollen from fluid her kidneys could not get rid of and flowed her heart. My mother's frail hands that told a story in a every wrinkle, crevice and briuse now full of a build , restored the way they looked like when I was a kid. I held her big finger, like I did when I was young as we walked different places in town. It was the same moment 33 years ago. Now, gone again.

I held my composure for my children who stood by their grandmother's bedside as they held each other and weeped. The doctor and nurses said they are making her comfortable as possible. This moment never crossed my mind how this would end. That evening, I was forced to play "God" to make a decision to keep my mom alive with zero chance of quality of life, or to end her suffering. The serious anti social full of pride woman laid helpless and sick in front of my eyes. My mother moved her head and looked at the corner of the room, but she couldn't see. I happened to look where she was blindly stared ,and I saw the spirit of my grandmother, my grandfather others waiting to take my mom to the light.

I let her die a natural death. In peace. I burned the disease the ravagly took over body and turned her to dust. Her remains sits in a clock, watching over our house and children. This wasn't the end of my mother. Far from it ...