Shes sick, and not the "take a mucinex and get over it" kind of sick.
Her hair is falling out, the most beautiful curls you'll ever see swirling away with tears and shampoo.
Shes the kind of sick where you go to the doctor three times a month and have to get special permission from work to miss so much
When one of the four other people living in the house catches a cold, she catches a flu.
And it bring her to the edge. Every cough is like breaking glass, every ragad breath painful.
Through all this she still manages to be my mom somehow
She catches every tear in her paling hands. Fights end when her gentle voice says stop.
I'm scared though, some day her voice may say stop to the fight that matters. And shell be gone.
You see we are all dying, shes just doing it a little too fast.