In My Dreams - Bill Kaulitz Story

90. Sadness

The ambulance sirens wailed loudly as we sped through the streets at high speed. My mother lay on the stretcher, pale and vulnerable, surrounded by medical equipment monitoring her vital signs. The paramedics worked feverishly to stabilize her, and I sat beside her, holding her hand tightly as if it were the only thing connecting me to reality.
The journey was a whirlwind of emotions. The streets flew past us as I alternated my gaze between my mother and the paramedics. Occasionally, I met their glances, searching for a reassuring sign, but their faces remained solemn. My mother received electric shocks to restart her heart, a procedure that made my heart pound in my throat.
I held onto her hand tightly, trying to radiate strength, not just for her but for myself as well. The thought that things didn't look good weighed heavily on my shoulders. Still, I clung to hope because giving up was not an option.
The sounds of the sirens merged with the pounding of my own heart. The ambulance maneuvered skillfully through traffic, and every turn felt like a sharp twist in my stomach. I wondered how many seconds separated us from help, how much time there was to turn the tide.
I spoke encouraging words to my mother, unsure if she could hear me. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed distant, trapped in a struggle I couldn't comprehend. It felt like a race against time, with my heartbeat synchronizing with the pulsating lights of the ambulance.
Finally, we arrived at the hospital, and the ambulance doors swung open. My mother was rushed inside, surrounded by a medical team that immediately got to work. I followed closely, determined to stay by her side. The path to the emergency room felt like a marathon, every step soaked in fear and hope.
When I finally stood beside her bed, I continued holding her hand, an anchor in the uncertain sea of emotions. The words of the doctors still echoed in my head, but at that moment, I focused on the warm contact of her hand in mine, determined to be there, regardless of what the future held.

After an seemingly endless wait, the doctor approached me, his face serious and laden with bad news. "I'm afraid we have to be very honest," he began hesitantly. "Your mother has a serious condition, and based on the test results, we've determined that she doesn't have much time left."
Those words felt like a sledgehammer, a dark cloud descending and flooding my world with grief and despair. I stared at the doctor, hoping somehow he would take his words back. But his gaze was unforgiving, and the news slowly seeped into every fiber of my being.
I felt a lump in my throat and a suffocating heaviness in my chest. The reality was like an icy wind cutting through me, and the thought of losing my mother was unbearable.
Yet, I didn't let go of her side for a second. My hand clung to hers as if my touch could shield her from the relentless passage of time. The hours that followed were filled with silent sorrow, and I remained there, sitting beside her bed, like a shadow watching over her fragile form.
A few hours later, as the room was filled with the muted light of the evening, I saw a sign of life. Her eyes blinked slowly, and she opened them gently. A faint smile played on her lips as she registered my presence.
"Mama?" I whispered, my voice saturated with emotion. She looked at me, her eyes full of love and a touch of resignation. It was a moment of reunion, a fragile glimmer amidst the darkness. Her hand sought mine, and we shared a silent connection that reached deeper than words could ever express.

The words of my mother cut through the silence of the hospital room like a gentle breeze enveloping my soul. Her weak voice carried a message of love and sacrifice, and tears pricked behind my eyes as I held her hand firmly.
"Elise," she whispered, her voice almost swallowed by the soft breathing of the hospital equipment. "I'm sorry," she said, apologizing as if she had done something to me. I tried to reassure her, squeezing her hand and assuring her that there was no need for apologies. But she persisted and whispered, "Go back. It was wrong of me to keep you here."
Dumbfounded, I looked at her, not understanding what she meant exactly. My mother, with her illness-weakened stature, apparently had more insight into my situation than I had expected. Her next words revealed a deep truth that shook my heart.
"I know you've been in another world," she confessed softly. "I've traveled between different dimensions myself." Her hand found my heart, her fingers resting on my chest as if touching the pulsating core of my being. "I know you were happier in that other world. I see the sadness in your eyes. You need to go back."
The sudden revelation from my mother unleashed a flood of emotions. Confusion, loss, and a glimmer of hope interwoven in her words. I stared at her, my heart pounding in my throat, as she encouraged me to follow my own path.
"I don't know how," I whispered, almost trembling. She beckoned me closer and placed her hand lovingly on my heart. "Follow your heart, dear, and you'll get there." Her eyes closed, her hand relaxed, and the monotonous beeping of the medical equipment became ominous in the room.
I felt a mix of hope and sorrow, knowing that my mother was letting go of me while at the same time pointing the way to a possible fulfillment of my desires. Her heartbeat slowed, and the world grew quieter as I remained by her side.