And the walls came tumbling down...
But first she cleaned.
The toys,
the dishes,
the counters,
the couch,
the futon,
the baby's room,
the baby's crib,
the baby,
her desk...
On the desk hidden beneith old doctor bills still waiting to be paid was an inconspicuous yellow envelope.
The card.
The birthday card She had given her when they last saw eachother.
It seemed like forever had passed since they gathered in a hotel room high above the city with a giant picture window almost as large as the wall itself.
It seemed like years had gone by since She played with her great-grandson after just meeting him.
She seemed healthy.
Looked it, sounded it, and her grand-daughter felt it.
She was so proud of her for beating breast cancer.
So proud of this tiny, and near-frail looking woman that she wanted to hug her and never let her go.
As they said their good-bye's she thought to herself, what if this is the last time I will ever see her?
She hugged, and said, "I love you." over and over.
Ever since the telephone call,
she had been numb.
Ironic...
The cure killed the cancer,
the cure also killed Her.
Numbness was confused with relief.
No more pain,
She's lived a long life full of adventures.
So she cleaned.
And shoveled.
Somehow shoveling the snow was calming.
The repeatitiveness.
The scrape,
the silent toss,
the slight "poof".
She shoveled at 6pm.
Shoveled at 9.
Shoveled at 11.
Shoveled again at 3:30am.
If it keeps her sane,
let her do it.
She shoveled and shoveled,
not feeling the cold nipping at her fingers and her toes.
If it saves her from herself,
let her do it.
She finally went to bed.
4am and the world is so blurry maybe she wont be able to think about anything,
especially Her.
A dream.
Horrible dream.
Mother was there.
Bugs and leaking ceilings threatening collapse.
A home falling apart from the inside out.
So much more than a metaphor.
Not even asleep an hour and she wakes gasping for air,
she awakes crying.
One of those dreams one wakes up crying a cry one doesn't even recognize to be their own.
One of those dreams one can't even figure out why they're crying.
But she knew.
She tuned in to her own frequency,
dialing the knobs inside her head until the static dissapated,
picking up her own words between gasps for air and foriegn sounds.
"Grandma... nooo..."
The toys,
the dishes,
the counters,
the couch,
the futon,
the baby's room,
the baby's crib,
the baby,
her desk...
On the desk hidden beneith old doctor bills still waiting to be paid was an inconspicuous yellow envelope.
The card.
The birthday card She had given her when they last saw eachother.
It seemed like forever had passed since they gathered in a hotel room high above the city with a giant picture window almost as large as the wall itself.
It seemed like years had gone by since She played with her great-grandson after just meeting him.
She seemed healthy.
Looked it, sounded it, and her grand-daughter felt it.
She was so proud of her for beating breast cancer.
So proud of this tiny, and near-frail looking woman that she wanted to hug her and never let her go.
As they said their good-bye's she thought to herself, what if this is the last time I will ever see her?
She hugged, and said, "I love you." over and over.
Ever since the telephone call,
she had been numb.
Ironic...
The cure killed the cancer,
the cure also killed Her.
Numbness was confused with relief.
No more pain,
She's lived a long life full of adventures.
So she cleaned.
And shoveled.
Somehow shoveling the snow was calming.
The repeatitiveness.
The scrape,
the silent toss,
the slight "poof".
She shoveled at 6pm.
Shoveled at 9.
Shoveled at 11.
Shoveled again at 3:30am.
If it keeps her sane,
let her do it.
She shoveled and shoveled,
not feeling the cold nipping at her fingers and her toes.
If it saves her from herself,
let her do it.
She finally went to bed.
4am and the world is so blurry maybe she wont be able to think about anything,
especially Her.
A dream.
Horrible dream.
Mother was there.
Bugs and leaking ceilings threatening collapse.
A home falling apart from the inside out.
So much more than a metaphor.
Not even asleep an hour and she wakes gasping for air,
she awakes crying.
One of those dreams one wakes up crying a cry one doesn't even recognize to be their own.
One of those dreams one can't even figure out why they're crying.
But she knew.
She tuned in to her own frequency,
dialing the knobs inside her head until the static dissapated,
picking up her own words between gasps for air and foriegn sounds.
"Grandma... nooo..."