I stood in front of the messenger and I wept. The air was bitter and it burned my throat as I swallowed the news. You were gone and my world would never be the same again. My colorful dreams of adoring you and being near you slowly faded into black and white collages of memories.
It's been many years since a dreadful disease came into our home and carried you away. But I still remember you, weak as a wounded bird, cradling your soul in your arms, kneeling and praying for your salvation and asking for our protection. On your trembling lips, I could see the drops of guilt left behind by every angry word you shouted. Every tear that ran down your face fell to the ground and stained the clay beneath your knees.
Unselfishly, as you were dying, you were still concerned for our welfare. Even when your body had betrayed you, when the only thing you could move were your eyelids, there was still a trace of compassion burning in your eyes. You nourished us with those looks of compassion.
In a world, in a life, in a home where hope was scarce and nearly extinct, you had faith that the love and respect you had brought into our world in your healthy days would burn bright once you were gone. And in your dying days, we learned about caring, humanity, and the truths about eternity.
Most of all, I remember your love. Unconditional, unmeasurable, and full of the thousands of joys of motherhood. I still remember that love even as it fades.