It occurs everyday to think that she is dying, like the world around her, but at a much faster rate than everyone else. I Imagine him standing near her bed scythe in one hand and the swinging sand hour glass in the other only so that he can see. It's much like swallowing bitter poison each day I take care of her, watching her waste away to a hollow shell of a person that she once was. I know she's bitter too. My mother, still fairly young, and her mind slipping as her body fails. I don't blame her for being angry, she's trapped in her own mind as her thoughts come out in a jumbled mess for us to translate and her eyes only able to see down a narrow tunnel. Each day I put on a show, the mask I've so well trained to my face. People like to see me happy, but when the doors close behind me I can cry freely. Sometimes I cry for everything she's going to miss and never got to do, sometimes I cry because of the things I still need her for, for her to be at. Sometimes I cry because I feel lost with no direction to turn to despite the helpful hands of those around me. Those hands provide comfort, but they don't provide the direction that I need. There is not hope for her now, the prayers have been said and faith given in many different religions and still no change. Death has her now, the god(s) have let her go. There is now nothing more to do but wait. I feel sick when I think it, but I wish that she would leave this world. Lord knows she wishes it too, but we abide the time patiently, trying to enjoy the remaining days that are left. Death knows how long she has, but he's not willing to show the hour glass, hidden from view with a crimson drape. I hope she goes soon, before her mind loses all control of who she is. I want her to be at home comfortable in her bed snuggled with the cats at her side, not in a nursing home with the CNA's prattling up and down the halls doing the work that many families could not do. I want her to be at home where she is at least somewhat at ease.