Time is Precious

Tick tock. The monotonous sound of the monitor tunelessly competes against the silence of the darkened room like the ticking of a clock’s unstoppable hands. I’ve counted minutes, hours, and days from the whir of that machine. I refused the clock that once stubbornly hung from the wall like Jesus from the cross, ordering them to remove it as a final request. My body quivers with unbearable pain; I am weighed down by the sickness of trying to get better. My time is slowly trickling away…

Tick tock. Beams of golden light slip into the room, unnoticed like a burglar through a slight gap in the heavy draping curtains while dancing across the bedclothes, silently indicating the arrival of a new day. They will never know. I ache for the days I spent as a wife, a mother, a friend. I didn’t mean to do it, didn’t mean to walk away from their lives’. I just needed something, anything to aspire to in my lonesome life – they treated me like a slave instead of the person who I wanted to be. I needed a reason. I needed to leave.

Tick tock. The troubling feeling of regret claws at my mind while unforgettable memories flood across my dull eyes, the old wounds of time opened once more by these deep scratches. I cannot even articulate the words of an apology even if I had the opportunity to for I am muted into silence. The Sun is slowly fading once more into the comforting arms of the horizon as the bare walls become dappled by pale moonlight. Tomorrow the pain will end, the tears will stop, and the slow hands of sadness will creep around twelve for the final time.

Tick tock. I think of my son and the six summers forsaken – I can only imagine his face, the memory of him has long faded from the worn clock of my life. The first time his chubby little hand found my finger warms my numbed heart – how I wish I could rewind time. If only I could explain, if only I could make him understand why. If only. I’d be patient if I had the time, but I don’t. I will never be able to forgive myself for the moments now lost to eternity.

Tick tock. I have faced the thieving hands of time often, only to return with little less than I already pocketed. I withdrew my loving arms from the family I adore. Maybe I deserve this pain; the wise words spoken of karma sink into the dark sea of my mind. Now it is my time to let go. God’s clock is the only one that matters. I am a woman with a terminal illness; I am a woman who is going to die. The hands on my aging clock have turned for the very last time.