for so long, the days in this hospital passed away so quickly, and every day when I came to see her in the ward, I saw her skin dull, her body wanes. Peruke on her head that hid the bald head had the only bright color in this little grayroom. We bought this periwig, after the first chemotherapy, when she lost her hair. "If not now then when coud I wear it!", - she said, and her face filled with a smile.
Now everything around seemed frozen like she did. There was nothing to expect, but at such moments you always think that it is still possible to fix something, that there is some other way, perhaps these medications will help or some other, a fortune teller or a president. But every day, the only person in this room is me. Every time I'm afraid to cry, she should only see my smile.
At such times home stops being a shelter, a fortress. It becomes a place of memories, souvenirs from the past. Now I'm biting, what to do with all these things around. It seems that they gave over being things, lost this objectivity. Without their owner they do not matter, they are just not rubbish. Too much mullock is left after us, which were so important for me, for someone else, after death gets value of lost renaming. All these thoughts have once again faded in my head, but I tried to escape.
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