During her last days she sat in bed and looked me in the eyes and told me she was ready to die. I started to cry because I wasn't ready for her to die. All she cared about in those last days was if we, her children, were going to alright. I didn't tell her how I really felt, that I didn't want her to die. I wanted her to fight as long as she could. But I only said, "Don't worry about us, mom. We'll be fine." But I wasn't. I still couldn't believe it when my sister made that call at 3 AM. I was silent driving to the hospital and forced my tears to stop as I walked in the room. I wanted to be strong but when I held her cold hand and listened for an absent heartbeat, I felt the flood gates open. This was the seond time in my life that I saw my dad, who was the strongest person I know, cry. I couldn't stop. I cried for all those missed moments with her. I cried for my wedding that she won't attend. I cried for those annoying "mom" calls she'll never make. I cried for her, I cried for my sisters, I cried for me. One moment, life made sense, now I feel like I don't want to live in a world without her. Life goes on for the world but I feel like time has stopped for me and I'm trapped in an endless cycle of tears, pain, and heartache. Just wanted to vent. Thanks for listening.
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