I have lost people that I love before. This is not new.
As a nurse I have watched patients fight to live. I have watched as their families stand by helpless and hopeless as their loved one fights. I know the helplessness of knowing that there is nothing left to do but wait. And hope. And pray.
But I am sitting here, watching my grandmother struggle for each breath. And my prayer is not for a miracle. My prayer is an end to her sufferring. And then I feel guilty. It makes me feel like I am praying that she would die. And I don't want her to die. I can't imagine my world without her. But the idea of her suffering, of her being in pain, is breaking my heart into thousands of pieces.
I know that everyone thinks that their grandparents/parents are the best. I know in my life there have been few other people who have been so instrumental in helping to mold me into who I am. She believed in me when no one else did. She gave me a home when I had no where else to go. She encouraged me to start over again and to remember that I was special, even when I had given up on myself.
My flight home is scheduled for tomorrow. This time when I leave, I leave knowing that I will never see her again. Never speak to her again. That she will never meet my children.
So I wait. And pray. And hope. Knowing that no matter what I do, some time in the next few hours, days, or weeks, a light will go out of this world, out of my life. And I will never be the same again.