Perpetually Dying

My friend, far away.
Perpetually dying, a tired wall of sickness spreading and suffering, each day worse than the last.
No hope but for the next moment.
In time, the end comes to us all, but we live by denying it.
Until it approaches.
Or comes suddenly.
But her, every day, growing worse, she lives in defiance of it.
For her son.
He is young, but he sees not the crippling pain, closing in on itself, but someone staying strong.
For him.
Hold on just a little longer.
And when he’s strong enough, your gift to him, you can rest.