Sequoia Coast tripeka

Mama.
A child's love for her mother; a yearning, a comfort, a fierceness. In the time Dinah had been alive thus far, she saw Mama as a beacon; a marble-white pillar, the heart and mind and soul of her family. Admiration ran heavy.
What Dinah saw now was someone shattered, someone torn down to only the little spark of life that remains buried deep in the confines of ribcage. Someone scattered, disorganized; not all there, not anymore.
A mother sacrifices, a mother provides, a mother is unconditional; and Dinah, at her fresh age, now allows her to put that down at the expense of herself.
But what else was she to do?
She did not hear the exchange, but it was felt, and as hard as she fought and begged for it not to happen before the woman who had already suffered enough, she began to weep. Muted, but rough; unravelling fiercely as her cheeks rush with heat and her eyes squeeze shut, and on the ruff of her mother's chest she can still smell the sea; can still smell Daddy.
She fears that this will be the last time she is ever able to.