As you're lying in this bed, I see you struggle to stay alive. Even though we don't want to admit it, it's a lost battle.

Your energy is fading away. You become less conscious. More pain medication puts you to most of the time at sleep, if I can call that sleep.

Your breathing becomes shallow. I told you to let go, and everything would go fine for us, but you keep fighting.

We live this drama, but the rest of the world doesn't care. Outside this room, it's the same infernal pace. The world continues to turn.

But here, space and time feel different. Painful.

Everything that needed to be said has been said. We still have only a few moments to share.

Looking at you, it suddenly occurred to me that I assumed all those years you were there to take care of our family.

I never asked you if you were happy. At this moment, I realize that all the worries that seemed so important when we experienced them have no value.

I hope we brought numerous moments of joy and that you leave with your heart full of happiness. These are the only things worth remembering.

Goodbye.