She lies there sleeping. She sleeps most days now. I haven't been in to see her since the accident. It's my fault she lays there in pain. If I had been paying attention, this never would have happened. It's my fault.
It's my fault.
It has been two days since I last said even one word to her. But mother has asked me to go in to say my goodbyes. Goodbye? Two days ago she was a healthy, active girl, and today I am saying goodbye to her; as if she is leaving for a holiday. But this will be no holiday. The doctors have said that by tomorrow, Anaiah will not be breathing. Her collapsed lung, that could not be saved, will have put too much pressure on her little body and her heart cannot take it any more.
Mother told me that they have given her medication to keep her from being in pain. Medication that keeps her sleeping and calm, keeping the pain at a minimum. But she awoke some time ago, and after they spoke to her awhile, she asked where I was. She wants to speak with me. Me? Wh