You have such a sad look in your eyes. I put my hand on your chin and I tell you with my own eyes how much I love you. You turn to stare at the wall. I touch parts of your little body. Now I can feel the bones. When I lift you up, I call you feather because you are so much lighter than you were a month and a half ago before your illness. I wake up in the middle of the night. What can I do to make this easier on you? I don’t want to lose you, but you can’t suffer. I have been through this before. Members of my family became ill and I had to let them go. I did it very reluctantly. My heart still longs for them.