She came home for the last time. Could not walk through the doors. She was carried, both in and out. She entered warm, blood still flowing through veins that had been cluttered with cells, wayward. She did not hesitate to lay upon her bed, the throne of grace where many came to pay homage to one they loved.
With each passing day, there had been less of her. Each hour you knew there was this steady pulling, away.
Oh, not that she was eager to go, or even wanting to. Even so, there was eagerness, if only in those cells, consuming, seeking more. Of her. Snatching breath. Snatching hope.
And we sheltered and nurtured. We whispered and wept. There was singing mingled with laughter. Love casting its cloak over all.
She? She was wrapped in a steadfastness, a willingness to experience and wring out all of the life she could. Until her words slurred. Until no words remained, only the shattering of one more breath into the silence that reigned.
And soon, sooner than any of us dreamed or ever, ever wanted, even her breath left, leaving behind a shell of what once was. A daughter. A sister. A lover. A friend.
She was carried once more, stiff and still, leaving for the last time, wrapped in sorrow’s beauty, elegantly bound in a steadfast love which could not end.