It’s been a few weeks since I last saw you. Not that you haven’t been on my mind; it’s just hard to see you declining.
I’ve watched you go from feeding yourself to a nurse having to feed you. Walking freely to being bound by a wheelchair. Every week you lose more and more of you.
As I scan the halls of the facility full of familiar faces, yours I do not find. Maybe you’re resting in your room.
I ask a nurse, “Where’s Ms. Abigail?”
“Oh, Ms. Abigail passed away.”
My heart breaks, again.
Farewell, Ms. Abigail. Rest well.
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