(……..)

It never mattered what the doctor had said. It didn’t matter whether I wouldn’t make it till the end of the year. That I had few months to breathe on this terrestrial. It just never seemed okay at first. So I wondered why me?. It really never mattered whether I’ll be subjected to X rays and couple of therapy sessions. I never envisioned myself being accustomed to needles, and veins being vasolidated. I never fathomed the idea of having a personal doctor before, and attending more of those self help groups, having to introduce myself each day as if it was for the first time.

This world was so new to me. Because when the doc breaks the news to you, at first you’ll be like, “are you kidding me?”. You’ll be in some sort of denial. I knew my story would end at its beginning. That somehow I had to live and cherish the little time I had left. That I had to reconcile with God, look for my dad, and say goodbye to my concubines, and to the kids I fathered without my knowledge. But it just didn’t matter because she came back for me. If it was real or wasn’t, I do not care. She was sitting by my hospital bed, holding my hands. The ghost of her, smiling enthusiastically at me, with sadnes hidden behind. Saying, “Ooh my son…I shouldn’t have left you..”. For a moment her image would grow blurry, and I’ll be stretching my hands out, whilst tears bursting through my lips and words through my eyes, “mother…. mother. .. mother. ..don’t leave me…”
It really didn’t matter what the doctor had said. Because she was right there. And on that spot, I felt in love with the woman one more time for the last time. My mother. And it all made the difference. Finally, I made peace with my death. Because that’s what time does, makes you accept. 

**

As written by Phill Ibsen

( Master Of Descriptions )

A Heart_Art_Poetics productions