Inspirational Life Story

“Letting go” by Rebecca Miles

The following tale to my spouse and to all those who have been carrying or has carried the burden of loss.

While lying on my bed with my hand in yours you believe that my brain is fighting my body’s decision to stop playing the game. My eyes are shut, but I can feel your desire through your fingers that are tightly laced around my. The tenderness of your hands is a force, and you claim my right to existence through the ferocious grip of your hands. The way it has developed over many years, from perfect, tiny perfection to this display of adulthood welcoming strangers, shaking hands on deals, and carrying kids of its own. From the beginning that it was firmly grasping my finger in the silence of the hospital’s darkened room it was determined to latch onto me and my surroundings. It was a time when you needed to be reassured; it is today.

Dear baby, my hands lies at your feet, peacefully. Allow it to speak in the words I am unable to longer express I’m ready therefore, let me go.

Quitting is a sexist word. I was once thinking that too. When I was here, I remembered saying to you not to quit; to continue working on the school projects and winning over the teacher who was sour and at attempting to be all you could in your workplace and with your family. Therefore, it’s not a surprise that you would like me to come back for further; you’re waiting for me to put on my boots and give the final blow.

Doctors talk in plain English about their expectations for the final round of games. You’re smug, appearing to be in agreement with their prediction but, once they leave for the next hospital I feel the beat of anger in the beat of your palm. This disturbs the peace that is beginning to fade around me as if I had wrapped you induring our first night of bliss.

Dear child, snuggle me in this deep sleep.

Sometimes, strength can be the burden. I feel that your head is bowed by the weight of this obligation to fight to live my best life. You are a rock of strength, whose strength is threatened by the tides of emotion. Let them in; place the stone of your powerful will, and I assure you that there is nothing wrong nor shame involved in doing this. It’s fine to feel as tiny as an unassuming pebble, and waves crashing over it, time and again, being caught in the crashing tides of life. However, there is also a lot of power, even within the most insignificant of stones.

If the words of the doctor have ignited a fire of passion in your heart, they’ve quenched my deepest desires. I’ve been freed from the suffocating expectations to fight and carry on. My body has known for a long time the comfort of a lie-down and now my mind is able to too. After this illness, I am able to finally relax and embrace myself by embracing my body and mind one tightly.

Nurses arrive the kind people who come with bottles and needles to help make my day. They quietly and effectively dismantle the equipment that helped me live my life. Monitors and devices are removed and tucked away. Drips are stopped and beeps cease to sound. Lifelines are pulled out and I’m the only net I have, fishing my dreams and memories from my life. As I secure them in my own mind I’m willing to let them go.

Within you, I would like an old memory to shake. Do you remember the first night we spent together? There was a lot of noise too! The hushed voices of the nurses and commands of doctors, machines that recorded key information in a robotic manner while I gasped for breath and let out blast after blast of the trumpet of suffering. The whole thing was rumbling and you have swept away in a wave of affection.

You made your noise louder You did, naturally, and roared in a manner that was so loud that it silenced all other sounds. I was certain that I’d never heard a more stunning sound than the sound of your first-born cry. There were other sounds like temperatures being read or recorded on a computer, pen writing on charts, your armband identification being completed and the blue band slipping on your wrist. sheets creaking when they were changed, and laid, wheels rattling across the floor as we were transported to another area however, I was not able to listen to everything. The only thing that comes back to me, in the peace of the moment is the quiet that we experienced as all the other people seemed to be asleep the first time in a space of just two with eyes just for one another.

Finally, you shut your eyes and fell asleep. I was exhausted but, as I watched your chest’s tiny torso move and relax in a rhythm that was so familiar and fresh I tried to put off the fatigue as I sat you closer to me. I wished that the night would not end; to delay that moment in which we’d be separated to the last time regardless of whether you in a crib, just feet away from my mattress. My resolve was strong, however eventually, the night nurse came to visit laughing at my determined battle to stay awake and watchful.

“He’ll be fine He knows that his mother is with him. Keep in mind that there’s plenty of time to get tired in the coming nights!”

It was true. When she lifted you out of my arms and put you at the side of me, you didn’t move. One of the things I’ll never forget before I fell asleep was gently stroking your tiny hand using the tips of my fingers. I was aware that you knew that I was there and that I was sure that you were with me as well.

Silence surrounds us like it did on that night 80 years ago. You were the hand that was small at the time, and now it’s mine. The world may look like they’re different but there’s nothing that actually alters whatsoever. Our hands are always reaching towards each other across time and space, But within you’re circle in your memories I’ll be there to meet you and we’ll hug for the last time.

Dear baby, my heart is comfortably in yours. It will speak in words that I can no longer formulate. Let me fall in this deep, slumber.

I’m ready, and I am sure you are So let me go.

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