pain.

There are days when I feel like I would rather my own self be in pain than someone I love. I don't mean this in a self-righteous way at all.  The simple truth is that when someone else hurts, I hurt.  I want to take a little of their hurt for myself so they don't have to carry quite so much, and I hate that I can't.

Someone I very much love is dying. She is over ninety, and it is time for her life to slip away.  I understand that.  But things aren't going as they should.  Her life won't slip away quietly and peacefully.  She is in and out of hospitals, going through surgeries, on a high dosage of morphine to ease the pain.  My mom goes and visits her, holds her hand, and prays for her.  I sit in my room and cry and cry to think that the sweetest, kindest little lady I have ever known is fighting a battle no one should have to fight, especially when they are wonderful and kind and ninety years old.

All I want to do tonight is sit beside her and cling to her hand, but I am 700 miles away.  I want to fill that soundless room with my laughter and tell her how thankful I am for the childhood memories of hard candy and coat-hanger crafts.  I want to tell her how much I loved being to walk down the block as a little girl to visit her when I got done with school.  I want to tell her how special she made this kid feel.  

But all I can do is read updates from my mom and pray - beg - God to take away her pain.  I don't understand why she has to hurt.

Someday all things will be made right and there will be no more pain.  For Bea, I wish it were today.  I love her so.  It hurts to love.