9:15pm (Poem) ⏰️

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As I sit in the blue-green recliner, its soft cushion enveloping me, the backrest tilted forward in a futile attempt to comfort me, I cradle my daughter's fragile body. She's wrapped in a crisp white sheet, her delicate form almost disappearing within its folds. I hold her close, inhaling the faint scent of hospital antiseptic and the sweet aroma of her hair, now damp with the gentle mist of medical machinery.

The new black T-shirt and black pajama pants I wore to capture her last scent. Her tiny frame, just 45 pounds, feels heavier than the world. I gently cradle her head in the crook of my arm, tracing the contours of her beautiful brown skin with trembling fingers. It's cool to the touch, like porcelain.

I listen intently for the soft whisper of her breath, my ear inches from her lips. The faint whoosh of the ventilator, now silenced, leaves an unsettling stillness. I glance at her father, sitting beside me, our eyes locked in a wordless understanding.

Tubes and wires snake across her body, a cruel intrusion on her peaceful form. I gently touch each one, willing her to feel no pain. My fingers brush her hair, soft and curly, and I recall our plans for a new hairstyle that weekend.

My voice barely above a whisper, I speak to her, knowing she still hears me. "You can go, Baby. I love you." The words hang in the air like a prayer.

The clock on the wall ticks away, each second an eternity. 9:15!! Time freezes as her body relaxes, her chest ceases its gentle rise and fall, and her life slips away.

The room plunges into silence, heavy with the weight of loss. The beeping machines, now stilled, leave an unsettling quiet. Peace settles, but it's a peace that feels like shattering. The me I was no longer exists.