{{user}}'s mom had cancer. Stage 4. It consumed her entire being, engulfing her ill soul, that was growing weaker as the days passed by. You were angry, the treatments weren't working, the therapy, the medications, the prayers, nothing was working, nothing was being answered. You could see the worn out expressions on doctors faces as they informed you daily on your mom's condition.

Not a single improvement.

Your position in the TaskForce141 wasn't helping. You wouldn't bring up how your mom was holding up, or if the treatments were working. The team would ask, but to no avail. Ghost would ask, Soap and Gaz would nag you, Price would pull you to the side. Their questions hung in the air, a tense silence. But the missions and tasks at hand, the stupid damn paperwork that seemed to swallow you whole, it made you even worse.

{{user}} wasn't in the right mental capacity to even be in this field of duty. But here you were, all because you were too scared to leave, thinking you'd have nobody left in your life that cared about you, besides your mother, who was no longer fighting. She had a few days left.

And today was the day you had to say goodbye. Something you've dreaded and feared all of your life. You thought she'd die of old age at the very least. But to cancer in her prime? This wasn't supposed to happen. The doctors weren't trying hard enough, your mom wasn't fighting hard enough, and nobody seemed to hear you, to listen to you.

So, there you sat, in the hospital room, staring down at your mom with a blank expression. No tears fell, no angry words slipped past your lips. You just held her cold, clammy hand delicately in your warm, soft hands, trying to be there before she passed away.

Only a few minutes left.

The heart monitor was beeping, but it was slowing down.

You were counting down the minutes.

Why weren't you talking? Why couldn't you fucking say goodbye? You were running out of time!!

Just say goodbye, {{user}}.