The Reality

     I remember the day when all of us stopped talking about miracles; since then, I've learned to change my attitude toward life and death; and as many of us know, changing is painful.

     I also remember the day when the liver function index stopped telling good news, and mom’s getting weaker and weaker, her sleep longer and longer; I am so afraid every time I have to leave her at night—even though it’s just a distance between hospital and home—and terrified by the fact that the next morning, longer sleep might turn to coma, and she may not recognize me anymore. 

     The day was the day before yesterday, the second day of Chinese Lunar New Year, when dad said to me how he and mom have learned and what’s been on their mind. They don't talk about hope anymore not because they are no more positive, but because miracles are not the reality. 

     Mom is undoubtedly tired of this long and painful journey. I realized mom’s been fighting so hard to stay with us and now, the fate awaits and she’s ready for it. It is extremely heartbreaking to learn that death is the only way to free her; it hurts even more to realize the warrior who once fought so hard has exhausted all her strength.

     I broke down that day. After that, I feel like my mind seemed to evolve in a good way everyday. But still, I find myself in tears when having food from time to time; on my way home when I am riding the scooter, my sight blurred. And I still wake up from sleep in the early morning. At 2:30 a.m., I decided to get up and write it down.

     I know what is better for her. I just couldn't let go.

     只是捨不得。