Teenie tiny little breaths

9:34pm with a sinus headache.

There they are, asleep next to me. Their little heads facing the same direction be breathing in unison.

I wish I was better for them. I wish we didn’t sleep on a pull out mattress in the middle of my moms house. A labyrinth of boxes and stacks of papers. Last night S was delirious, holding his head up with every ounce of strength he had, “Grandma?” He asks. “How many days do you have left?”

”A lot,” she says. “You’re what’s keeping me here and going strong.”

My mom watches the show Hoarders the same way I watched Intervention years ago, high as a kite. Nodding off on pills while watching others do the same was ironic maybe, but it also worked like eye candy. Ohhhh let me see what they get.

Natural death is like a fan turning off. It slowly comes to an end, fading. However I struggle trying to prepare myself when it’s going to happen, or how. Will I expect her to die that day or will it catch me by surprise? It’s hard for me to acknowledge she’s getting closer to falling asleep longer every day that passes.