Take Me home  

Charlotte lay in the dimly lit room, her frail body tangled in the pale sheets, her once-vibrant eyes now clouded with sorrow. She was alone in a way that cut deeper than the physical isolation surrounding her. The nurses had come and gone, their voices fading as they passed through the door. But none of them stayed. None of them truly saw her.

“Take me,” Charlotte whispered, her voice barely audible, a cracked tremor of anguish in her words. “Take me home…” Her hands, shaking with the weight of a lifetime, reached out toward something that wasn’t there. The room, filled with the echo of her quiet cry, offered no comfort.

I stood in the doorway, watching her, my heart breaking. I couldn’t bear to see her this way. She had always been the one who gave and loved without question or hesitation. But now, her face was a portrait of pain, her eyes pools of desperate longing. She was calling for something that no one seemed to understand. She wasn’t asking for food or medicine, nor was she asking for the kind words of a stranger. She was asking for home.

“Take me home,” she repeated, louder this time, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she had said these words, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Yet, no one truly listened. No one truly asked why she cried.

The doctors and caregivers would say, “She always cries. She’s always like this.” But why? Why did they never ask her what she needed? Why didn’t anyone see the deep emptiness in her heart, the quiet, desperate cry for peace?

I approached her slowly, my steps heavy with the burden of knowing that there was nothing I could do. Her pale, frail hand reached out to touch something beyond, to find peace and the home she so desperately sought.

She had been here for months, maybe longer; no one could say exactly when it all began. No one could remember the last time she smiled without the weight of tears shadowing her face. It was as if the love that once filled her life had vanished, taken wings and flown away, leaving behind an empty shell that only longed for peace.

“Why does no one care?” I asked, more to myself, my voice breaking under the weight of the question I already knew the answer to. I reached for her hand, gently holding it in mine, feeling the tremor of her body beneath my touch. She squeezed my hand as if she was reaching out for something far away, something that only she could see. “You’re not alone,” I whispered, knowing my words were hollow. How could anyone feel less alone when she longed for something so intangible as peace?

In her silence, I heard the story of her life: years of giving, loving, and caring for others, only to lie in this dark room at the end of it all. She had achieved so much in her life. She was like a bird with broken wings, trapped in a cage, unable to fly. The door was open, but no one had given her the strength to escape. The darkness of the place she had been placed in swallowed her whole. And all she wanted was to go home, feel loved again, and feel the warmth of a familiar hand.

The hours passed, and still, she called out. “Take me home.”

I couldn’t answer her. What was I supposed to say? Could I tell her that this was her home now? Could I tell her that the peace she sought would return someplace else?

I watched her as she lay there, her body trembling, her soul aching. I cried, too, deep inside, unable to stop the tears that blurred my vision. Why do we not care? I asked again. The question rang in my mind, unanswered and impossible to bear.

And so, she lay there as the minutes stretched on. Her cries, soft but full of anguish, echoed in my heart. A woman who had spent her life giving is now left in a place that was never home.

The following day, I sat with her once again. This time, her eyes were closed, and she lay utterly still. I didn’t know if she was asleep or had slipped away quietly at night. But the silence was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. In that silence, I hoped, desperately hoped, that, somehow, she had found peace. I hoped that, somehow, Heaven had heard her cry.

Maybe, just maybe, she had gone home.

In the end, she might have found the love and comfort she desired in her final moments.