~Ill-fated and cursed~

Pamela Patrick, a Sister, a Friend, a Mother, 1956-2023:

I couldn’t stop reading those lettering engraved on her grave as I stood motionless with a bouquet of flower firmly held in my hand and my gaze lowered on her beautiful picture. Quickly I wept from the lag of my heart. I was guilty of this sin. With trembling hands I dropped the flower and returned to the recess of my broken heart. Would I ever forgive myself for being unable to provide her medical bills?

Each time I dared to speak, I choked on my words and I ended up sobbing and wiping endless warm tears that burnt my cheeks. The death of my mother had opined in me that I was indeed an embodiment of poverty. I had only one option; provide the hospital bills and she would live for me yet I could. I had only come to agree with my fate in that if her bills were to be a thousand dollars I would have also disappointed her.

Just then he appeared by my side and interrupted my thought- father. He had wept so bitterly that his eyes were
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