I just close my eyes and think of you
Nine and a half hours in to an 8 hour shift, I received a phone call. Without even hesitating, I left.
On my way to the hospital, I thought of all the times he and I had spent together. The family gatherings, the Christmases, the numerous brunches and activities. While not in my everyday life, he swas a constant in my larger picture. In fact, at nearly every family picture I could think of, he was in it. Always smiling, gentle voice, welcoming to all of his grandchildren.
I called my father back. I had forgotten which room was my grandfathers. Jesus, my muddled head only had to remember one number and here I am forgetting it. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, crusty yellow flecks coupled with just a tinge of moisture. As I walked toward the visitor's entrance of the hospital, I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was still in my work clothes, my white shirt glowing against the black. I looked around me, clouds swirling, dark and ominous. I walked in, found my elevator, pressed the correct button and waited complete strangers as lost as I was. I put on an air of confidence, of strength as I offered them a comforting smile.
The door opened and I immediately saw my family. I offered hugs to aunts, uncles, cousins, my sister, and my father. My mom, of course, was in the room. My sister walked me down to it, not entering it with me. Apparently, most of the family was content to wait out in the visitors area, not going in here. I don't know if content was the right word, but...trapped. In here, there was my grandma struggling to hold it together (not that any of us would have minded if she lost it. I gave her a hug and kissed her forehead. She held me back weakly, her arms having lost their strength. I walked over to my mom and let her cry on my shoulder. One of my uncles entered the room and I left, letting him have alone time with his dad.
The family talked in the visitor's area. Most of the conversations dealt with everything but the situation at hand. And why not? What was going on down the hall, well hell, we would have to deal with it soon enough. That was death. What was going on here, this was life affirming, letting each other know that even after today, the concept of family would endure.
As I felt my stomach grind and my hands began to tremble, I realized it had been 8 hours since I had either ate or drank anything. I knew it was time for me to stop avoiding the room. I had to face it, to face him or what was left of him.
I made the slow walk down the hallway and passed the sign that said family only beyond these doors. I stepped into his room and looked him over. His deeply tanned skin looked cracked and moist, his arms both dry and sweaty all at once. His eyes were opened, but there was no real sense of awareness in them. His legs twitched, his left more so than his right. His thin silver hair was slicked back, not from some sort of product but from the love of his family. That was oil from my families skin as they had stroked his hair, moisture from their tears as they realized that the man how had gone to church earlier that day and hugged his wife telling her that he loved her more than ever had then had a stroke and was not coming back. Now, it was the machines keeping him alive, keeping him alive until his youngest daughter could make it from the halfway across the country to say goodbye.
I hugged my grandma again as she said, "This can't be real. It can't be real." The dam finally burst and her tears flowed freely. "I am sorry for being so selfish..I.."
My uncle Jon gave my shoulder a squeeze and nodded his head. He took my place. He spoke in a calm soothing voice. "You know, Mom, we all have thought that for years. You are selfish. However, I don't know if this is place to address it."
She laughed. Not a belly laugh, not a hearty laugh, just a weak thanks for being here laugh. My Uncle Jon began to tell her a story of when he was growing up how my Grandpa used to talk to him while they drove. I didn't hear most of it as I watched my Aunt Jean move over to my Grandma's side as well, handing her a tissue. My mom sat next to my Grandpa, tears slowly rolling down her eyes.
"You might want to say goodbye now."
I nodded and I gave her another hug. I moved to my Grandpa's bedside and I held his hand. It still felt warm, but there was no squeeze back, no reciprocation. I looked at his face. With his eyes not blinking much, they were watering. It looked like tears had run down the side of his face. I wiped them away with my thumb and I kissed his forehead twice. I whispered in his ear, "Thanks for being there, year in and year out. Thanks for making this family what it is. We are all here for you, like you have been for us. If there is a heaven, I hope to see you there when it is my time. I love you." I kissed his forehead and I ran my hands through his hair, his tears and my oil joining the rest of the families.
The winds swirled overhead as I walked out the hospital. We were in a tornado warning. Seek shelter, get somewhere safe and sturdy. Safe and sturdy, just like the man connected to the machines had always been.
On my way to the hospital, I thought of all the times he and I had spent together. The family gatherings, the Christmases, the numerous brunches and activities. While not in my everyday life, he swas a constant in my larger picture. In fact, at nearly every family picture I could think of, he was in it. Always smiling, gentle voice, welcoming to all of his grandchildren.
I called my father back. I had forgotten which room was my grandfathers. Jesus, my muddled head only had to remember one number and here I am forgetting it. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, crusty yellow flecks coupled with just a tinge of moisture. As I walked toward the visitor's entrance of the hospital, I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was still in my work clothes, my white shirt glowing against the black. I looked around me, clouds swirling, dark and ominous. I walked in, found my elevator, pressed the correct button and waited complete strangers as lost as I was. I put on an air of confidence, of strength as I offered them a comforting smile.
The door opened and I immediately saw my family. I offered hugs to aunts, uncles, cousins, my sister, and my father. My mom, of course, was in the room. My sister walked me down to it, not entering it with me. Apparently, most of the family was content to wait out in the visitors area, not going in here. I don't know if content was the right word, but...trapped. In here, there was my grandma struggling to hold it together (not that any of us would have minded if she lost it. I gave her a hug and kissed her forehead. She held me back weakly, her arms having lost their strength. I walked over to my mom and let her cry on my shoulder. One of my uncles entered the room and I left, letting him have alone time with his dad.
The family talked in the visitor's area. Most of the conversations dealt with everything but the situation at hand. And why not? What was going on down the hall, well hell, we would have to deal with it soon enough. That was death. What was going on here, this was life affirming, letting each other know that even after today, the concept of family would endure.
As I felt my stomach grind and my hands began to tremble, I realized it had been 8 hours since I had either ate or drank anything. I knew it was time for me to stop avoiding the room. I had to face it, to face him or what was left of him.
I made the slow walk down the hallway and passed the sign that said family only beyond these doors. I stepped into his room and looked him over. His deeply tanned skin looked cracked and moist, his arms both dry and sweaty all at once. His eyes were opened, but there was no real sense of awareness in them. His legs twitched, his left more so than his right. His thin silver hair was slicked back, not from some sort of product but from the love of his family. That was oil from my families skin as they had stroked his hair, moisture from their tears as they realized that the man how had gone to church earlier that day and hugged his wife telling her that he loved her more than ever had then had a stroke and was not coming back. Now, it was the machines keeping him alive, keeping him alive until his youngest daughter could make it from the halfway across the country to say goodbye.
I hugged my grandma again as she said, "This can't be real. It can't be real." The dam finally burst and her tears flowed freely. "I am sorry for being so selfish..I.."
My uncle Jon gave my shoulder a squeeze and nodded his head. He took my place. He spoke in a calm soothing voice. "You know, Mom, we all have thought that for years. You are selfish. However, I don't know if this is place to address it."
She laughed. Not a belly laugh, not a hearty laugh, just a weak thanks for being here laugh. My Uncle Jon began to tell her a story of when he was growing up how my Grandpa used to talk to him while they drove. I didn't hear most of it as I watched my Aunt Jean move over to my Grandma's side as well, handing her a tissue. My mom sat next to my Grandpa, tears slowly rolling down her eyes.
"You might want to say goodbye now."
I nodded and I gave her another hug. I moved to my Grandpa's bedside and I held his hand. It still felt warm, but there was no squeeze back, no reciprocation. I looked at his face. With his eyes not blinking much, they were watering. It looked like tears had run down the side of his face. I wiped them away with my thumb and I kissed his forehead twice. I whispered in his ear, "Thanks for being there, year in and year out. Thanks for making this family what it is. We are all here for you, like you have been for us. If there is a heaven, I hope to see you there when it is my time. I love you." I kissed his forehead and I ran my hands through his hair, his tears and my oil joining the rest of the families.
The winds swirled overhead as I walked out the hospital. We were in a tornado warning. Seek shelter, get somewhere safe and sturdy. Safe and sturdy, just like the man connected to the machines had always been.