Money. 

All they want is money.

“Don’t worry, you’ll make it…”

Knowing that they won’t survive.

The pill, trained to attack, doesn’t kill what it’s supposed to.

The liquid, meant to cure, only does damage. 

She pressed the help button, but nobody came.

Money.

The cost was high, too high.

The cost was more than a price tag. 

It was the cost of happy holidays when you realize you're missing a loved one that was once there.

The cost of hope.

Money.

All you wanted was money, you didn’t care about my family.

You didn’t care about what my family was going through.

You didn’t care that you were giving my family false hope.

You didn’t care that you were making my grandma worse than she already was.

All you cared about was yourself.

All you cared about was money.

Money.

You made us think that chemical was helping.

You made us think things were gonna get better.

You tore apart our family string by string.

The people we thought were trained to help people.

Were trained to take people’s hopes, dreams, happy holidays, and money.

“Cure”

You say it was a “cure” well.

Your “cure” was a death sentence.

Your “cure” lengthened suffering, not life.

Your “cure” tore families apart.

Your “cure” was useless.

Time.

You took time from us that we will never get back.

You don’t realise the things we take for granted.

Until those things we once took for granted become something you wish you had. 

One more minute.

One more second.

One moment to say the things we needed to.

Not giving the chance to say goodbye, thinking that it was possible to make it through.

Not wanting to let go.

Instead of preparing us.

You gave us 7 months of false hope.

The things we could of said.

The memories we could have made.

We spent our time thinking things were getting better.

Pain.

Seeing my 2-year-old cousin walking up to her, not understanding she is no longer with us, and hugging her and saying you can do it, grandma.

I love you.

Seeing my dad cry almost every single day, and not being able to do anything about it except pray and pray. 

Hoping god wouldn't take her away.

Pain. 

Everyday thinking they are still there. 

Asking are we going to grandma and grandpa’s on holiday’s.

Grandma’s no longer here.

You breakdown and cry realising the loved one you lost is not replaceable.

There will always be that hole in your heart.

Watching someone go through this is heartbreaking and traumatic. 

All you can think about is how much energy.

How much love. 

How much life.

How she was alive, but not there.

Suffering.

You don’t care.

It’s not you.

It’s not your family.

It’s not you not being able to not walk out of your house.

Wondering when your useless “cure” is gonna hit next.

It’s not you having no hair. 

It’s not you.

You don't care

How?

How do you give false hope to families like mine?

How do you pump another with a chemical that makes them sick?

Knowing that it is not going to do anything...

How do you sleep at night knowing what you’re putting my family through?