Her first smile that I recall takes me back to when I was about 4 or 5. She was the youngest version of herself that I remember. She taught me how to tie my shoes, read and write, how to respect my fellow man and how to appreciate what I have. She kept a clean, cozy home and made sure I had enough to be as happy as the life we had would allow. It’s strange when I recall how well she could hide her sickness from me back then. Naive youthfulness is bliss. I knew she was in pain at times, but she mostly masked it gracefully. When, from time to time, she would suffer from one of her seizures, I would place tea and cookies next to her bed and until she could move and speak again I would wait. Funny how I managed to partially block that all out, because I can barely remember it straight. She is a darling being, most compassionate and giving. I am truly lucky to have her.

Nearly two decades have passed and cures have yet to be found for her constant agonizing pain. I am not sure why nobody managed to find out what is wrong with her. As a med student I find myself even more helpless. I cannot give my mother the cure she needs, neither can my father that loves her more than himself. I have watched her suffering for too long and I am exhausted. I feel extremely selfish some days for being fed up with the constant idea of her continuous struggle. I only wish her to be joyful and young as she once was and most of all – healthy. I feel like she missed out on this life she was given and to see her fading away slowly is an ever growing burden that weighs heavily on my forehead making me feel like an eternal slumber awaits my future days. Sometimes I lock myself away in my own world. Other times I just accept life as it is.
Heavy is the burden of loving something that death can touch. Heavier is the burden of loving someone touched by merciless sickness. Much too heavy.