The cold linoleum floor. That strange, anti-septic smell, and the bed in which she lay with bars on her sides as if she were trapped. The hospital itself. Her eyes flickered, showing that she was dreaming. She'd twitch, her hand in my hand might tighten but yet she still wouldn't open her eyes. She was breathing deeply. Her eyelashes were wet with tears. There was a tube in her hand. It showed that my mother had just come out of a surgery. She'd cried when the anesthesia had made her nauseous. I'd never heard her cry out like that. 
I sat by her side for 3 hours. Never moved. I wanted her to get up, maybe say something. She was always so hyper, so full of life. I just wasn't used to seeing her like this. So still, so weak. They said she was aware of everything. Was she? Could she hear me whenever I whispered "Mama"? If she could hear me, I hope she felt reassured that I wouldn't leave her. Never ever. I'll always be by her side if she wanted me there. I still am here, Mama. I love you.