It has been now, approximately one month, since I came to this hospital ward. Everything around me seems foreign, even though the doctors are trying so hard to keep me alive- to revive me. They are nothing but strangers, with some healing power, which actually means null to me. I laugh. Silly, this life is. People help people to no avail, and others absorb it all, without an ounce of shame. As beds run out, they push me to the end of the surgical ward, still with my largest organ missing. Barely lifting my head, I glance at my flattened body. Looks as if someone placed a million books on top of an ant. There it is, that big empty hole right in the centre, still as transparent as I first saw it, post-surgery. Every now and then, a few children will swing by my bed, and take joy in slamming their fist in the empty space. It seems as though they are running their palms in a newfound lake on the plains, the land being my body. They declare to be putting their fist inside a human body, but little do they know, there is nothing there. Like the spontaneous hole in a single piece of bread, unexpected since the rest of the batch looks flawless, this space too exists, regardless of how they praise my face and body.
My mother, she loves me, and I know this. She says to me, they will fix this by placing another piece within the empty space, if I sign off on the surgical permission slip. Her eyes glisten with a speck of hope and every time, I let out a muffled giggle. I ask her if I will ever be truly the same as I was before this stripping, if they place an alternative piece of soul inside me, just to keep me breathing. Only, so I will be able to live, walk, talk, regardless of my auto-pilot heart. Will it be worth it, mom, to have me alive, but still dead? Would your aging eyes be able to see me run from home to the world and then, the world to hide at home, day after day? No, she said. But, I have hope. I have hope you will, despite having another’s diary inside you, laugh with us at home one day, like you did ages ago. I reflect on her words, as I form an understanding smile on the outside. Mom, if I was going to return to that girl, why would I have waited so long to give you this joy? Why would I have not become your girl before I ran into this situation? Now, I am emptier than ever and still, you have hope I will return. God bless you, mama. Such emotions are not your fault, ‘nor mine.
Little do you know, as you instill hope within yourself, then others, and then me, I am able to see through your false composure. Even you know, mother, I will not be the same again, but you cannot stand the pain of letting me go. As the team contemplates options of life support, you would rather have half of me, than none of me. After all, what can you do, too? Tied to the bond of motherhood, this is hard for you, and I understand. But unless you can find the original piece I once had inside, pluck away at it, sort through the decay and dry excessive blood, please.. brace yourself and sing a prayer.