Last Wish

I want to die.

You might think I’m a coward in thinking so, for death cannot be the solution to anything. Wishing for death or killing yourself is just an escape from the realities of life. But what can you do if death is actually the solution?

It is, for me. Death is the only way to resolve my problems and the problems that I’m causing to everyone else around me. Death, for me, is not an escape. It’s my freedom. Freedom from this bed-ridden state. Freedom from the helplessness I feel when I cannot even slightly move a limb.

No, I am not alone in my fight. My husband has always been with me. From the time I was paralyzed two years back to today, he has never let me be alone. He sits by my side, and talks to me for hours, even though all I have for a reply is a blink of the eyes. I try to speak for him, but fail.

Every morning, a kiss on the forehead wakes me up and then begins his day full of duties. He cleans me twice a day, feeds me, combs my hair and what not. It is because of him that I don’t have a single bed sore. I have seen him so busy taking care of me that he doesn’t have time for himself. When the doctor came for his regular visit, I heard him asking my husband not to forget his medicines. He left his high-end job and teaches school children at home, just to be with me.

I see him getting old in his late thirties. He always smiles while talking to me, but I have seen him crying at night, when he thinks I’m asleep. I’ve seen him feeling sorry for me.

I don’t want him to die a bit everyday, seeing my condition. I feel helpless when I can’t wipe away his tears. I want his struggle to come to an end. This end would be difficult for him but it will give way to a new beginning.

Because, it’s good for stagnation to come to an end.


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