I remember,
When I was around,
Eight years old,
I witnessed my mother,
Sitting at the edge of your bed,
Crying.
I remember hiding behind the door,
Sinking to the floor,
Crying.
I knew you weren't getting any better.
I knew you were soon,
To leave this world.
As I watched my mother,
Fall to her knees,
Still crying,
I managed to see your,
Still, fragile, weak body,
And convinced,
My eight year old self,
That it was for the best.