Slow to stand, her body crackles beneath her with each step. Her movements slothful and exaggerated. Children play, husband runs and there she rests, simply an observer. She tosses and turns. She cries. She continues.
There's immense guilt over what she cannot control. There's exhaustion after what should be the simplest task.
Who is this person hunched over and sad? Frozen and stuck without an escape. She used to dream, to aspire, to wonder and now she sits with caution and fear.
Don't push it, they say. When there's pain you must halt. But she's needed. She's counted on. She's somebodies world. To walk away is not one of her choices.
So forward she moves though each stride is a struggle. She prays for relief but accepts that it may never come.