“My legs labored to and fro those close door.”
“Always close the door”, I reminded myself quick as my feet step in the room. It is a protocol preventing entry of infection-causing microorganisms – the invisible monsters, along with wearing face mask and doing medical hand-washing prior. She has leukemia.
at four, to and fro
the hospital become home
needle in- and out.
Her little face caught intrigue at the sight of me in white. Not a single word she muttered. Her eyes scanned a mystery through, as I was schlepping with an infusion pump- time to battle the invisible monsters: Chemotherapy.
she knows she is not okay,
oblivious machine beeps.
The obnoxious cycle begins: chills on peaks of feverish state, nausea and vomiting, loss of appetite, weaken down to bed, hairs falling. The span she was most vulnerable. “Always close the door”, again I reminded myself as I got into her room giving her remedies for some. Her fragile thin arms on her navel, though her face showed relief I asked her “are you still feeling queasy Charisse?”. Not a single word came from her mouth, instead a slow swinging ‘no more’ on her face lifted my spirit.
a little friend earn
on a nook of a small room,
though she’s shy to speak.
After a month of painstakingly care for her, she’s going home – to the kids real home. There was an overwhelming joy to her mother’s face. We missed her. The first word we heard back from her is a sequel of a chuckle. She was stronger than what we thought. Sometimes she speaks of decency, of courage, of mishaps we rarely laugh, and of hope and dream of joyous life. At a young age of four, she was stronger than me.
not always from the wise
innocent words do.
Three months after she was back. Her eyes were puffy, face and feet swollen, and in persistent fever. I am about to insert to her hand an IV needle when she begun to cry softly. It crumbled me. But despite the foreseeable pain, she held her little hand willingly to me then muttered “Okay”. The same cycle of treatment goes, and not long she felt well again. We had some friendly chats and laughs that painted smile to her face and to mine, not a sight of forlorn seen. With the same smile on her mother’s face they bid a sweet goodbye once again – to the kids real home.
A mother’s tears shed
for her daughter’s wellness sake
fauve love than paintings.
Months after she was back again. Her most feeble confinement to the hospital. She was a sleeping beauty as most of her time was consumed sleeping, a natural response of the body for recovery. She must have been so tired. She eats almost nothing. The sparse words she uttered was pitiful to hear. Often than before I gave her the rescue medicines. Then days passed she seemed to be recovering. More words and little more spoons of soft food.
One night, blood on sheet
her eyelids barely open
she hug her mother.
Rest in Peace Charrise.
photo credit to Lillian
A Haibun written for dVerse dedicated to Charisse, and for all mothers too.
At a young age she pass away, but her memory will be with me. I was one of her nurse, and her friend. We have help her battle with leukemia, she did not know she was helping us too, to be motivated in life thru her innocent positive outlook – Reminding us to open our doors always to others.