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It was as if nothing mattered anymore. Gone were the smiles, the glint in the eyes. Life bled out of her soul. Death was approaching.

We could see it, one day at a time. What could we do, except hold her hand and smile to her, the memories going through our minds.

We could see it, every evening. What could we do, except wish her sweet dreams, and we would be there in the morning with her favourite warm sweater from the old farmhouse of her childhood.

Dust to dust
The old cliche
So very true