Her face looking as fragile as glass. Her hair glimmered as it reflected the sunshine from the window as she lay there asleep, and all I could do was sit there. Watching her. Waiting for the moment she would wake up and call for me. Call for her mummy.
My heart would rip more and more with every minute she was asleep. Every minute seemed to be like hours. Hours like days. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago since I last heard her voice. A lifetime ago since I had looked into her bright blue eyes. A lifetime ago since I had cuddled my baby girl.
Instead of hearing my baby's voice, all I could hear were the machines. The machines that were keeping my daughter breathing. The sound would echo around the room. Then another noise joined in. A tap of footsteps. I knew who was coming. I knew why they were coming. Yet I could not take my eyes of her, in case she did wake. I couldn't turn around and look at the doctor who was coming to ask the same question as he had been doing every hour, all day. He wanted to switch them off. He wanted to switch the machines off. He wanted to let her go.
Every time he came I knew I should let her go. She was never going to wake up. She was never going to speak to me again. But each time, I said no. Each time, I let my heart take over instead of my brain. I desired with all my heart for her to wake again. This part of me kept those machines switched on, but this time when he approached me and put his hand on my shoulder. I knew what I ha to do, to keep my baby happy, I agreed. I said yes. I knew in my mind I had to let my baby go. She was never going to come back to me . She was always going to stay on the machines. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Then the room went quiet. I knew it. My baby was gone.
Powerful stuff indeed - and an excellent response to a difficult task. I am SO glad you are back to the blog, and I am sure your moderators agree with me that you an asset we don't want to lose - so welcome back! :)
ReplyDeleteThere are some issues with sentence construction (syntax) and punctuation here which need ironing about, but they do not detract from the solemn, grief-tinged tone of the whole piece. And the moment she reaches her decision at the end is powerfully and poignantly done. Well done!
I shall eagerly await the verdict of your moderators...
Absolutely - really glad to see more of your work! This is an affecting piece; the fragmentary sentences serve well to illustrate the mother's similarly disjointed thoughts, which in turn suggest the distraction of grief. This deftly tells the reader that the mother is telling the story after the event, without pointing it out with heavy hints of the "little did I know" variety!
ReplyDeleteA small point that I felt was a little less strong was the second paragraph: phrases like "Hours like days" and "It seemed like it had been a lifetime" are a little cliched. I think it would be more effective if these were suggested without being explicit: the reader KNOWS that each moment must stretch, but perhaps a description of (say) the light moving slowly around the room as the afternoon approached would suggest a painful passage of time in a more subtle way? Just a suggestion.
Really good to read this, though, and it's a moving piece - I look forward to your next one.