Anna opened her mother’s curled fingers. Lint had settled in the creases of her palm. Like a new born’s hand. Anna desperately wanted to whisper into her mother’s ear. To tell her that her hands were like little stars too. But they weren’t. They were bruised from all the IV lines and swollen from all the medications being pumped into her fragile body.
She kissed the palm of her mother’s hand. And then she held it. All day and all night long. Tightly. Hoping to prevent her from slipping away. Anna thought she could physically pull her back from the brink. Whatever it was.
Pull her away from the white light. Pull her away from the dark nothingness.
