No one should deserve the death penalty.
Whether it be smuggling many kilo's of coke into a country.
Or being the man behind the chain saw massacre.
Sentencing someone to the death penalty.
Is also murder...
I've never witnessed someone being sentenced to death.
But I sure have seen someone slowly die while they lie there.
While they look at you with eyes showing fear that will never be explain mearly with words.
While they cannot move they're thoughts travel through your mind.
How ever much you want to try and scream out, burst into tears and leave the room.
You'll know that thats the only time you'll see them...alive.
The fear, that goes through someone.
Just before they die.
Cannot be felt anywhere else.
The tears that roll down their cheeks.
While watching the bright white ceiling.
Before it starts melting away.
Before the darkness consumes their vision.
She breaths hard.
Her breaths are hard and fast.
Like a dog panting from a whole hours running.
Her mouth slighty open.
Her chest expanding and shrinking while she takes those quick breaths.
Drawing her last breaths from her stomach.
You realise the breathing stops.
You see her stomach slowly go down.
And you hear that last groan.
Before her hands falls off the hospital bed.
From running up to her hospital room.
Greeting her with a huge hug while shes reading a book on her bed.
Thinking it was just a bad case of the flu.
To getting driven to the hospital with the only thought of mom being in the intensive care unit.
After a biopsy.
After being told your own mother has lung cancer.
That was spreading to her heart.
Fourteen nights of sleeping on a plastic chair beside that green bed.
Fourteen nights of hospital food and no sight of sun.
After those late night walks to see stars and breath fresh outside air.
Bringing her home from the hospital for her last days.
Injecting morphine into that small tube put into her veins.
Watching her stare at you.
Those eyes filled with frustration and excrutiating pain.
Sleeping beside her with nothing but a sleeping bag for two weeks.
After a month of watching your own mother suffer.
After two months of freshly discovered bad news given to you over and over again.
You realise you mother.
Who gave birth to you.
Who loved you and cared for you.
Who always looked at you with those loving eyes.
Who always held your hand and gently led you out of the rain.
The mother that walked you to tennis for the first time.
The mother who you always looked up to for advice, companionship and love.
Is gone, dead. How ever you want to call it.
She will never knock on your door and ask if your alright.
She will never slowly open the door, walk in and hold you in her arms.
While she asks you about your troubles.
While she sits there with you in her arms reassuring you.
While you confess.
The mother who rushed to the hospital.
To hold your hand after being hit by a car.
Gone.
I don't want pity, for what I have wrote there.
I just want all of you to know, my story.
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