The Triumph of Love
When they were born, you stared into the eyes of your kin. The hate that was once there, vanished. The fear of this horrible mix, obliterated. You felt love, warmth, and a kindness which had been absent. You were told that oil and water did not mix, but the proof before you was undeniable.
You devoted your spirit to cultivating this contradiction. This twisted aberration that society would never fully accept.
You nurtured them and kept them safe. As they grew, you wilted. As you fed them your spirit, your own depleted. The thought of being torn to pieces never fazed you, even as your flesh failed.
Seeing the smiles and laughter brought you a joy you had never thought possible. It was unquantifiable. You prayed to your God to give you just a few more moments. That you were imperfect, but this, this right here was as close to heaven as earthly possible.
Your prayers were answered, and so you went to the caverns to spend one last moment with them. They were grumpy and bratty as usual. Posing for a final picture you said, “This might be our last one, come on, take a picture with me.”
Knowing not that your soldiers were losing the war, they did not understand what “last” meant. Every breath was becoming tiresome. Every step painful and arduous. You fought valiantly against the disease, but in truth, you had already been cured.
Medication and fluids ran through your body. The fiery liquid reminding you you were still of this world. Though, not for long. In your last moments your thoughts were not of pain or sadness. It was of them. Barely able to open your eyes, you could feel their presence. This is not how you wanted them to see you, but you could no longer control the rolling tide of eternal slumber. Almost beyond the vale you spoke to your daughter, one last time.
“I hope they remember me.”
Love you, Grandma.
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