Grammy

It was about 10pm when my mom called from the hospital to tell my dad that he better come and bring my brother and me. I remember watching my dad as he hung up the phone. He had tears in his eyes. Dad never cries.

“Your grandma’s dying. Go get your coats,” he said to us. He went outside to start the car and get the heat going. I grabbed my little brother and tried to help him get his coat on. Jeffrey was only six but already knew bow to get under my skin. He twisted and fought as I tried to force his arms through the sleeves.

“I do it myself!” be hollered.

“Fine!” I yelled back at him. “Just hurry up, will ya?!” I scowled, wishing not for the first time that I had remained an only child. Immediately, I felt guilty. Grammy was about to die and I was basically wishing Jeffrey was, too. I felt like a murderer.

I tried to be the patient older sister as I helped Jeffrey get into the car. We rode in silence on the way to the hospital. Dad clenched and unclenched his bands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. It scared me to see him so upset. Jeffrey must have been too; his little hand reached for mine and I held it tight.

As soon we parked the car, Dad hurried us into the hospital, picking Jeffrey up because he wasn’t going fast enough. Once we got inside, we went up in the elevator and then down some white hallways. Occasionally we would pass people slumped in chairs. Some were sleeping; others were reading or staring at their bands. As we hurried by them, I wondered what they were here for. Did they have a relative about to die? I wondered if they asked the same about me.

Just as we were almost to Grammy’s room, Dad stopped us. “I want you two on your best behavior. No loud noises or fighting. You can hug Grammy if you want and say goodbye to her. Okay?”

We both nodded solemnly. He didn’t have to tell us to be serious. We could feel it. But saying this seemed to calm Dad down. He took a deep breath and opened the door. I cautiously poked my bead in the door, but Dad got impatient and gave me a little push. I edged my way in with Jeffrey at my side and stayed close to the door.               Mom was sitting by the bed, looking tired and sad. She looked up when we came in, and Dad went to go stand next to her. They were blocking our view of Grammy, but I could see her old, pale hand lying on the covers, shaking. I knew I should go and say goodbye, but her hand scared me. Her fingers were all curled and bony, and her hand had those brown spots you get when you get older. It wasn’t like her hand looked that much different from the last time I’d seen her, but…seeing it so pale and shaking…l had this strange feeling that if I touched her, I’d die too.

So I stood with my back pressed against the wall, looking around the room, anywhere but at that alien hand shaking on the bed. The room looked the same, decorated with Jeffrey’s drawings and some get-well-soon cards I had made. There were some pictures of us on the table next to the bed, and Grammy’s fuzzy pink slippers were neatly placed next to it. Everything was the same and yet…I couldn’t figure it out at first. Maybe it was the wilting flowers on the table by the window or the smell of fresh antiseptic. Maybe it was the ugly yellow hospital blanket that always somehow managed to be inviting before, because it meant sitting on it, talking with Grammy. Now it just had that wrinkled, shaking hand. Maybe it was seeing the hospital room for what it really was – a room that would soon hold a dead person.

I could hear her wheezing breaths, like she was gasping for air. I wanted to plug my ears, but that would be acting like Jeffrey. Mom turned toward us and told us to hurry up and come over if we wanted to say goodbye. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to have a life of regret like the adults I read about in books. I grabbed Jeffrey’s hand and walked around to the other side of the bed. I had secretly hoped Grammy would look like the dying people on TV. You know, the ones who have all their make-up on and smile and tell you to remember them. It wasn’t like that. Her skin looked like crinkly paper and sagged on her because she was so thin. Her hair was all tangled and snarled. Worst were the rattling breaths she took. I stared at her for a minute. This couldn’t be my grandma. Grammy was the one with the warm smile, who gave me hugs and baked cookies. Even when I visited her in the hospital before, she always seemed so…so alive.

I could feel Mom and Dad looking at me disapprovingly. My repulsion must have been more obvious than I thought. I leaned over just slightly. “I love you, Grammy,” I said emotionlessly. It felt weird saying it. Her eyes had been closed, but they opened just a crack when I spoke. They startled me at first ­ where everything else seemed pale and pasty and grey, the sliver of her eyes gleamed at me, as if she knew what I was really thinking. I tried to have a look of compassion and sadness as I reluctantly bent to kiss her cheek. There was a small trickle of drool on one comer of her lips. I tried not to look at it or think about it as I gave her a quick kiss. Her cheek felt cool and rough, and I could feel the sagging folds of her skin. As soon as I was done, I took an involuntary step back and fought to keep from scrubbing my lips with the back of my hand. Dad came over and helped Jeffrey lean over the bed, but he burst into tears and wouldn’t kiss her. Her eyes were closed by then, though, so hopefully she was asleep or something.

I retreated into a comer and sat down, waiting for her to die. I just wanted to get back to my warm, comfortable room and forget about all this. I felt guilty for wishing she was dead, but I couldn’t help it. I tried to pretend I was really sad, but I knew my real feelings were obvious. Fortunately, Mom and Dad weren’t paying much attention to me. They either sat by her side, staring at her or sat as the room, staring into space. I forced myself to be content playing with Jeffrey’s hair. He had fallen asleep on my lap.

Two hours later, the moment came. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting. After all, I had never seen someone die before. While we had been waiting, I had been morbidly wondering what

it was like to die. Was there a white light at the end of a dark tunnel, or was it all just blackness? Did it hurt? Could you feel your soul leaving your body? I didn’t like these questions, and it made me wish all the more to leave the room.

But anyway, the moment did come. We heard her breath getting really raspy and shallow. Mom and Dad rushed over to her side and grasped those awful, shaking hands, crying. In less than a minute, her breathing stopped. Mom felt her pulse.

“She’s gone,” she said tearfully.

I stared at the body (after all, it wasn’t Grammy anymore, right?) and noted that I didn’t feel any different. I supposed that I must be in shock.

We stayed there for about fifteen minutes. Mom and Dad finally pulled themselves away. Mom gathered all the photos and stuff and Dad carried Jeffrey (still asleep) in his arms. I grabbed the vase with the dead flowers. As we headed out the door, I looked back. Some strange feeling took hold of me, and I ran back over to the bed. With a trembling finger, I reached out and cautiously felt her pale, dead hand. It wasn’t completely cold yet but somehow, I would have known it belonged to a dead person. I wiped my finger roughly on my pants and hurried to catch up with my parents.

The trip back was silent, except for Mom’s sobbing. For some reason, I felt angry and wanted to yell at her to stop it. I was angry at my dad for dragging Jeffrey and me out to the hospital. Most of all, I was angry at my grandma for dying and looking so bad and making me feel this way. I knew I’d feel guilty tomorrow, and deep down, my conscience was telling me I was going to be­ come one of those adults who has lifelong regret. But at that time, I didn’t care. As soon as we got home, I ran up to my room and started getting ready for bed, just like I always did. I scrubbed my hands several times, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and changed into my pajamas. I read a book for a little bit before turning out the light. I had almost managed to block out the image of my grandmother. And then, as I turned out the light, I saw the blanket that she made me, the one that I still slept with every night,  and I burst into tears.

– Elizabeth Williams, 2nd Place in Short Story