She sat -- her eyes closed, slouching forward on the large, blue, plaid cushion as the last chords of “Pachelbel’s Canon” drifted off of my finger tips and into our decorated living room. “Beautiful” mum whispered. Silence.
The wooden lid shut making a static sound and the stool creaked as it slid back underneath the dormant piano. We rested as her frail arm wrapped around my right shoulder exposing the dry white flakes of skin that pooled around the tips of her fingers and folds of her arm. Her knitted grey sweater smelled medicated, like cancerous vines amplifying the sickness of her cells. Head to chest we remained together as the silence screamed ominous truths.
Her vibrant energetic self was slowing down. Her eyes once protective and strong were now tired. We rested in the spacious silent room.
Her breathing unsteady, her body began to fret and fuss underneath me. Again she was tired and we rose as her weightlessness shifted on to me before we began our slow descent down the long white hallway. Childish paintings, colorful photographs and empty bedrooms passed us by. She held on to the wall for support and we arrived at her room. Her panting pierced the looming silence.
We continued across the checkered floor and her frustration heightened as she let go of my arm and sunk onto the king size mattress that lay expectantly in the center of her keep.
I quietly sat on the edge of her bed as the urge to run and to scream settled boisterously in the pit of my stomach. Reluctant to think, I babbled to her mindlessly while she slowly slipped into her bout of unconsciousness. I struggled to focus on anything as emotion blead from every cracked oracle of my being. Denial, anger, confusion, frustration, sadness, hurt. Silence.