She lay with her head on the pillow, her face toward the wall. Her white hair spread out like a fan, framing her lined face like a halo. Her eyes vacantly stared into the distance. A sense of grace was caught and suspended around her ancient frame, though the bed was narrow and the room she lay in small. In the room, the scent of disinfectant permeated the air, but she did not lay in the room in her mind. No, she walked on fields of flowers where she was gazing.

Her husband, young and living, they laughed and walked in the meadow, in the high hills where they had walked so often before their children came. He turned to her and his eyes smiled. The love between them as real as the day was in her mind. Much better to live here, where the memories glowed and joy was real, than return to her pain-wracked body.

Image by DerrickT via Flickr

Suddenly, however, she is jarred back to reality. The pain returns. Aware of where she is, she despairs. Waiting at the back of her mind is the beautiful place where he awaits, but she must live here still for a little more and endure the indignity of people moving her, because her body will not obey; feeding her, because she can no longer feed herself; and cleaning her, because her limbs have betrayed their sacred trust. More than one time during the day she cries aloud for an end to her suffering. but no one can hear her because her mind has been locked away from her motor functions.

Please open my doors, she cries with her eyes and her feeble grasp. Please remember that I still exist and just can no longer reach you, she weeps with silent tears. Remember that this could be you one day and treat me with kindness, cleanse me gently, and clothe me in dignity. And when the day comes that I pass on and join to the life that I see in my mind, hold my hand and gently let me go.