I am dreading to walk the long sterile corridor leading to your room, which looks extra clinical today.
There is only duty left, instead of any maternal attachment, that I am here every week to see you.
I am a bit envious that you don’t remember my name; you don’t hold me in your arms like you used to; but you stroke the plush cat I brought in like you used to with the family ginger cat.
I don’t understand the world you are living in Mama. You are talking to a toy cat like you always did in front of my teary eyes, and yet you are so far away from me.