The walls are white, a stark difference to the grey skies outside.

Death’s chill is seeping through the halls.

Or maybe it’s just the draft air conditioning units causing her to shiver.

Everyone knows it’s only a matter of time.

There’s pacing back and forth and down the halls.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The nurses whisper to her aunt and look away quickly because they know what is coming.

Her father stares stoically across the room.

She watches everyone. Unsure of what to do, unsure of how she feels.

She knows what’s coming, but still questions if this is the end.

She wants to comfort everyone but doesn’t know how.

She thinks she should feel sad like them, but the tears won’t come down.

She walks into the room and watches as death shrinks the life from someone she loves.

Her Grandmother looks smaller, she wonders if this is what happens when it’s time to go.

She wakes and they all gather around Her, sharing Her last few breaths of air. She asks for a prayer, so they all grasp hands and recite the Hail Mary. Maybe they were hoping for one.

No one really believes in the god She prays to, but now isn’t the time to deny.

I watch her look from her Grandmother,

to her sister,

to her brother.

And to her father.

Quiet.

Everyone is quiet.

She listens as her grandmother whispers.

Admiring them all, loving them all.

Before she leaves, she hears her say:

“Don’t remember me this way”

She walks out. Now they wait.

More people come and go.

The sky grows grimmer,

The halls colder.

She will remember this day, despite her grandmother’s final wishes.

She will remember how small she looked.

She won’t remember the others in the room or in the walls.

Death, darkness, and shadows have always been a part of her.

Following her. Reaching for her. Whispering for her.

It’ll break her.

But the shadows will also free her.

Overtime she will realize that there’s no running from the shadows, but there’s no hiding in them either.

She accepts what is a part of her and a part of the world around her.

The darkness and the light

Both swallows her up without remorse.

Shows her different versions of who she is and who she pretends to be.

She grows in the darkness and shines in the light.

She weeps for life.

And embraces death.

She’s not a hero, she’s not a villain.

She’s just me.