I didn’t need the monitors to tell me.
The room changed before the numbers did—
the air grew still,
like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Her chest rose once more,
then not again.
Her head tilted to the left,
and in that single, final motion,
something inside me split in ways I can’t name.
It wasn’t just the sound of her absence—
it was the echo that followed,
thick and unrelenting,
until I broke it with the only word that mattered.
Momma
My voice cracked against the stillness,
as if calling her name might tether her back to me.
But the room didn’t answer.
Only the faint hum of machines,
the sterile scent of antiseptic,
and me—
watching from across the room,
holding the hand of the only person I had left on this earth
who might possibly hold my heart.
More pieces of me went with her in that moment
than I’ve ever been able to count.
And though I keep walking, keep breathing,
there’s a part of me that’s still standing in that room,
waiting for her chest to rise again.
~Kae Jaye~
Kae Jaye The Writer 