Childhood. It has many different meanings. The ability to be worry free of any problems; to be unaware of the brutal truth behind any lie. But that's okay, for you're only a child and should not be bothered by troubling worries.
Childhood is the most precious and innocent time of ones life. There comes a time, though, when it all has to end. Even if you're not prepared for it to seize quit yet. But you know you have to be strong. Be brave for others, yourself, and the one you're losing. You see your loved one get sicker as the days pass, hear the doubt in your parent's voices, see the doctors growing more impatient. Yet you're still strong. Still strong as you sit next to that loved one in that stiff, uncomfortable hospital bed. The monitor beeps slowly; the IV drips lazily. You start to doubt they will make it, but you're still there loyal as ever waiting. Patiently waiting. Then one day you get the news you were absolutely dreading, but expecting. It doesn't come as a shock, but you're numb with sorrow. That's when you realize, your childhood is dead.