I’ve waited so long to see her, my body tingling with fearful anticipation, but now as I walk down the sterile hallway there's lead in my stomach. My feet don’t want to go any faster than a slow, lagging drag, even if my mind tells them to pick up the pace. One foot in front of the other, one step slowly transformed to the next.  
My mom cannot die, it isn’t possible. This is what I tell myself, despite the unreliability of the statement.  I just can’t imagine life without her, I would have never wanted too. But fate, or maybe the worst nightmare rotten luck can summon, has landed my mother in Room 617 of the St. James Research Hospital. Second floor, first room to the right.
This hall is sadly familiar now, memories of walking down it have become jumbled to little bits and pieces. My nose has long grown used to the smell of sickness and hospital mixed with the almost overpowering scent of lemon orange bleach.  
I can’t stall much longer, when I turn the corner her room comes into sight. You may ask why I’m hesitant, it’s a valid question. I’m just going to visit my mom. I’ve been visiting her here for the past year almost. This time is different, after this time the visits will end. They will take her off of life support. She will die.
I open the squeaky door carefully, out of habit mostly. There’s no chance of waking her now, even if I tried.
“Hello Lainey,” Dr. Lewis whispers from inside the room. He only ever whispers. Like bad news will be less terrifying if said quietly. Or like me, he just doesn’t want to wake her. He steps into the hallway to greet me. “Are you ready for this?”
“Yes,” I reply, withholding the the truth that can send pain to anyone that hears it, especially me. No, I am not ready, how could I be? Three years ago my mom, Kathleen Thomas, was diagnosed with  ALS. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis- a nervous system disease that causes muscle weakness and impacts physical function.
ALS, I have come to learn, is so much more than that. This definition didn’t tell me that anything and everything that was or was going to be my mother would be taken away. All the wonders that I have taken for granted snatched from under my feet. Losing her will be like losing a limb, or worse, a fragment of my soul.
“Even though it doesn’t look like it, she can still hear you Lainey. Say what you think she needs to hear. We’ll be back in half an hour,” And with that, he leaves. Out of all the doctors we have been to since mom got diagnosed, Dr. Lewis is my favorite. All of the other doctors labeled her incurable and moved on with their lives. Not Dr. Lewis, he’s what my mom would call stubbornly optimistic. He never gave up on her, even after there was no hope in sight.
I take a deep breath and open the door. From far away she looks horrible; from up close she looks even worse. Don’t get me wrong, my mom is beautiful. Her porcelain, clear completion, emerald green eyes, and flowing strawberry blonde hair has a beauty that could take breath away. She’s tall, graceful, and lovely, everything about her sparkles compared to my dull blonde hair, awkward angles and mud colored eyes.
Seeing her on that bed, with tubes sticking out of her arms and machines controlling her breath, brings a fresh wave of agony. I choke back a sob and grab her delicate hand. “Mommy?” I plead, praying that she would wake up and smile at me like she used to. When I was little and sad about an insignificant something, she could make it all go away just by being there with me. She still can. “Do you remember when we would go sledding every winter, right after we put up the tree? Do you remember when I was six, and you said I was old enough to go down the hill all by myself? I was so scared. I didn’t want you to leave me, I still don’t. I can’t do this without you, I don’t know how.”
I only have minutes left. Panic settles deep into my bones where no matter how I try to release it, it cannot escape. “Do you remember when Bandit got put down? You said he had puppy cancer so they had to end his suffering. Were you suffering? Did you ever just want to give up and die? I wouldn’t blame you, I’ve felt that way too sometimes. I know you kept fighting for me. I’m selfish for not letting you go, but I won’t. I hope you can forgive me for that.”
She didn’t answer. I didn’t expect her to. We sat in silence; the only sound was that of the machines keeping my mom alive. Dread rose inside my chest suffocating me. Time to say goodbye had sped away, leaving me in it’s dust. How can I let go of something so precious that no one really had it in their grasp, no one except for me?
Dr. Lewis and one of the nurses came back into the room.“It’s time” he whispered putting a hand on my shoulder. I just shake my head, tears streaking down my cheek. I know what comes next, these two unlikely people, a wisp of a graying man and a lump of hair sprayed, manicured woman, will take my mom away from me.
They start to undo the tubes that connected her arms. Machines shut down, snatching my beautiful sparkling mom with them. I realize now that all of these memories of me and my mom will be all I have left because she is leaving me. I realize that the best ones were small, but they were special, and I wouldn't trade any one of them for the world. For months, or even years, these memories could drown me, taking my breath away and falling to my feet where they will build up like water in a dam. Or maybe they won’t.  Letting angels go is painful, but pinning them down is impossible.
Watery breaths lessen as her body fails. Nothing will ever be the same.
“Goodbye, Mommy.”