#ripped my heart out and stomped on it
Maggie could tell you that she was angry. That she wanted to scream at the world and never stop screaming until they returned her precious son to her.
Maggie could tell you she was bitter. Because Sam didn’t even get to be a teenager.
Maggie could tell that she was happy. Because he wasn’t suffering anymore.
But, mostly, Maggie Collins was tired. Tired of seeing her son in such immense pain and not being able to do anything about it. Tired of trying to reason with the doctors. Tired of watching her husband sprout more grey hairs on his head and wear a further hole in the carpet. Tired of sitting up for nights on end in the hospital, holding Sam’s hand and lying to him. Telling him that everything would be alright.
Because it wouldn’t be. Absolutely not. How could it be? He was nine and he was dying and she was old and she would continue living when all she wanted to do was lay down on the sterile hospital floor and die. Die so that her little boy could keep living.
It didn’t surprise her what Nate said. Not really. Somehow she’d always known. What surprised her was the return of feeling. Suddenly, Maggie Collins no longer felt tired. She no longer felt nothing. Rather, Maggie was furious. and IYS would learn that hell hath no fury like a woman whose child has been ripped from her senselessly.
I’ve decided there should be a different button right next to “like.” Because for posts like this one “like” isn’t the right word. “Ripped my heart out and stomped on it” is more accurate. There should be an easy shortcut way of saying all of that while indicating that, in some slightly masochistic way, I appreciate it.
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