She’s dying from life. She doesn’t have cancer, she’s not sick, but she is suffering And she’s dying from her own life. She’s dying from the nazis taking her childhood away, she’s dying thinking about the first time her husband asked her to dance, and she’s dying because her husband left a note and she found his body. She is dying because she did so much, and was so strong. She tried so hard and now she is tired. She is still strong, but she is oh so tired. And she’s still being stubborn but she can’t leave bed. She can’t move, she can barely speak, I feel what she wants to say resting on the tip of my tongue. She is dying.