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Sitting by Her Bedside

A person lying in bed with an IV in their arm, covered by a patterned blanket, next to a leafy green plant.
 
Sometimes I wonder if this is the closest I’ll ever get.
She has become like my child and I her mother
Its a weird role reversal when you become your mother’s caregiver
 
Gone are the days of her picking me up and driving me to meet friends.
I now pack her in the car, with her snack, and take her to her appointments.
She plays on her phone while I try to talk through her day.
 
The hardest part is sitting by her bedside
While she screams in pain, I pray don’t let this be it.
I watch her slow breathing and gasp as they pause.
 
The hands of the clock strike midnight
Is this what it is to be a parent?
Sitting in an ER room, barely able to breathe yourself?
 
Why can’t I take away her pain?
She bore the pain to bring me into this world
Why am I not able to take this world of pain away from her?
 
Minutes become hours and hours become days
I anxiously pace the room, wanting to cry for my mother, my child?
We sit and wait for answers to cure her.
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