"Twenty five is a long time. Even longer in years than… this… body has been alive."
What am I saying? Am I attempting to ruin her moment here by bringing up such a thing? It was going so smoothly for once. With me just keeping my mouth shut.
"Longer than I'd been alive at the time, too. I also have to think that number matches my age when she finally passed. While we were unable to do anything for her."
Needles of pain prickle my chest - not just from staring at my son while full of milk. But from knowing someone like me *might* have been able to talk her through it.
Assuming she was willing to hear what I had to say. Because it's not just something I could have done *to* her. It would have been something she had to want for herself.
And as much as I hate to think it, no matter how much she loved her daughter here, she could have been choosing not to fight against the withering. Humans can also die slow from heartbreaks.
