Sometimes it hurts.
January 4th, 2000
Early morning, exact time unknown
There is little I remember. I remember a rude awakening. Hustle. Frantic mumbling and my grandmother's ever present tears. Selfish annoyance at the weakness of everyone around me. And bitterness at their annoyance in me.
"She is -dying-. Why don't you cry? Don't you care? Don't you LOVE HER?"
Of course I did.
But someone had to hold everyone else together.
Strange, at 16, I was more of an adult than all of them put together.
It was a heavy weight to place on someone so young. Just 16 years and one day old.
But I had carried the weight for.. my whole life. What was one more day?
I was not concerned. Even though I fully well knew the gravity of the situation. She had been in the hospital since right after Xmas. A year prior, they had said she was going to die.
But. She had pulled through.
She always pulled through.
This time would be no different.
I knew something was wrong when we approached the ICU department of Putnam General Hospital. Even though I remember little of what happened... I remember being taken to the Doctor's lounge... the room that boasted "doctors and nursing staff only." And we were obviously neither.
I remember the doctor coming in to talk to my grandmother. I do not remember his face. I only remember his green scrubs and long white lab coat. His tight, concerned voice.
I remember little of the conversation. I remember the words "...trying everything we can." and "...looking a little better."
He left again.
My grandmother was hysterical. My grandfather, in the very early stages of Altzheimer's, looked stoic. Emotionless. I know he knew what was going on, but it was as if things didn't completely register. Tanya was in the hospital, yes.
It was as if he was feeling the same way I was, only his was medical and mine was emotional.
It just didn't click.
I remember reading a magazine. Sitting at the round table facing the window. Back to the door. Doing everything I could to block out the sound of my grandmother's wails.
I had to remain strong. I had to hold everyone together. I had to be strong...
And then there was his voice again.
"..everything we could."
"...whole body shut down."
"I'm sorry."
I dropped the magazine.
Everyone was staring at me. Everyone but my grandmother, who was delerious with sobs.
Surely she will cry. Surely she will do something...
But I just sat there, numb, cold, and suddenly feeling very, very small.
It seemed as if only seconds passed. When it had in fact been a few minutes. My grandmother was on the phone, trying to choke out an explaination to relatives. The obviously couldn't understand her. So I took the phone, and in an eerily calm manner, said two simple words that I will remember until the day I die.
"Mom's dead."
There was some commotion on the other end.. Something having to do with "Oh my god... I'm so sorry.. are you okay.."
I just passed the phone away.
"Do you want to see her?
My grandfather walked with me down the hallway. So sterile and white. The flourecent lights glaring back at me from the heavily waxed floors. It was nearly blinding.
Through the double doors, into ICU.
The nurses and doctors parting ways, deadly silent and awe-struck, as if death itself had just entered the room. A cute little silver haired man, and a small blond teenager that bore a striking resemblance to the now-dead woman in room 101.
I remember what hurt me the most was her hair.
My mother was famous for her hair. They called her the yellow rose of texas in her day. It was long, fine, and hung in brilliant platnum waves down her back. It shone like the sun itself.
But what was left that had not been cut off was in matted knots from days in the hospital.
She had flawless skin. Translucent ivory.
But she was... red. And swollen.
Her kidneys had failed. Along with everything else.
Those brilliant blue eyes were closed, forever. They would never look into mine that were exactly like hers again. I would never make her smile. I would never make her cry.
She was gone.
And the words of just a week or so before cut into me like a razor.
I had wanted to take the car. It would be my birthday soon. She had told me that she was going to let me buy a few cd's for my birthday from the local used record store. I wanted to go, and she was sick. She had been in bed for a few days, but I really didn't think anything of it.
I wouldn't leave her alone.
Finally, she looked at me with tears in her eyes.. eyes that looked so distant.
"Don't you -care-? I feel like I'm DYING, Desiree."
A few hours later, she was rambling in her sleep about.. babies. She head babies crying. She wanted to find the babies. They needed someone.
In my horror and shock, I sat by her bed, smoothed her hair, and convinced her that I would make sure the babies were taken to their mothers. They were okay.
She slipped into a deep sleep.
The next night, I fell down the stairs and broke my little toe in the middle of the night. I got home from the emergency room the next day. I was awakened a few hours later my the sound of a stretcher being taken down the stairs.
My mind flew back to her first day in the hospital. Before she had to be put into a medically induced coma.
I took her hand, and told her I loved her, and that I would see her when she got out.
A day later, where I stared at her beautiful face, held her swollen hand, and told her it was okay to let go.
But most painful of all. A month before where she was crying, talking about my soon coming birthday. And I heard her say "She's about to turn 16. She isn't going to need me anymore. I always swore I would stay alive at least until she turns 16..."
Cold realization.
it was the day after my 16th birthday.
She did not feel needed anymore.
So. She let go.
She did not feel loved anymore.
So she left me.
I had pushed her away. And now, I was alone.
Early morning, exact time unknown
There is little I remember. I remember a rude awakening. Hustle. Frantic mumbling and my grandmother's ever present tears. Selfish annoyance at the weakness of everyone around me. And bitterness at their annoyance in me.
"She is -dying-. Why don't you cry? Don't you care? Don't you LOVE HER?"
Of course I did.
But someone had to hold everyone else together.
Strange, at 16, I was more of an adult than all of them put together.
It was a heavy weight to place on someone so young. Just 16 years and one day old.
But I had carried the weight for.. my whole life. What was one more day?
I was not concerned. Even though I fully well knew the gravity of the situation. She had been in the hospital since right after Xmas. A year prior, they had said she was going to die.
But. She had pulled through.
She always pulled through.
This time would be no different.
I knew something was wrong when we approached the ICU department of Putnam General Hospital. Even though I remember little of what happened... I remember being taken to the Doctor's lounge... the room that boasted "doctors and nursing staff only." And we were obviously neither.
I remember the doctor coming in to talk to my grandmother. I do not remember his face. I only remember his green scrubs and long white lab coat. His tight, concerned voice.
I remember little of the conversation. I remember the words "...trying everything we can." and "...looking a little better."
He left again.
My grandmother was hysterical. My grandfather, in the very early stages of Altzheimer's, looked stoic. Emotionless. I know he knew what was going on, but it was as if things didn't completely register. Tanya was in the hospital, yes.
It was as if he was feeling the same way I was, only his was medical and mine was emotional.
It just didn't click.
I remember reading a magazine. Sitting at the round table facing the window. Back to the door. Doing everything I could to block out the sound of my grandmother's wails.
I had to remain strong. I had to hold everyone together. I had to be strong...
And then there was his voice again.
"..everything we could."
"...whole body shut down."
"I'm sorry."
I dropped the magazine.
Everyone was staring at me. Everyone but my grandmother, who was delerious with sobs.
Surely she will cry. Surely she will do something...
But I just sat there, numb, cold, and suddenly feeling very, very small.
It seemed as if only seconds passed. When it had in fact been a few minutes. My grandmother was on the phone, trying to choke out an explaination to relatives. The obviously couldn't understand her. So I took the phone, and in an eerily calm manner, said two simple words that I will remember until the day I die.
"Mom's dead."
There was some commotion on the other end.. Something having to do with "Oh my god... I'm so sorry.. are you okay.."
I just passed the phone away.
"Do you want to see her?
My grandfather walked with me down the hallway. So sterile and white. The flourecent lights glaring back at me from the heavily waxed floors. It was nearly blinding.
Through the double doors, into ICU.
The nurses and doctors parting ways, deadly silent and awe-struck, as if death itself had just entered the room. A cute little silver haired man, and a small blond teenager that bore a striking resemblance to the now-dead woman in room 101.
I remember what hurt me the most was her hair.
My mother was famous for her hair. They called her the yellow rose of texas in her day. It was long, fine, and hung in brilliant platnum waves down her back. It shone like the sun itself.
But what was left that had not been cut off was in matted knots from days in the hospital.
She had flawless skin. Translucent ivory.
But she was... red. And swollen.
Her kidneys had failed. Along with everything else.
Those brilliant blue eyes were closed, forever. They would never look into mine that were exactly like hers again. I would never make her smile. I would never make her cry.
She was gone.
And the words of just a week or so before cut into me like a razor.
I had wanted to take the car. It would be my birthday soon. She had told me that she was going to let me buy a few cd's for my birthday from the local used record store. I wanted to go, and she was sick. She had been in bed for a few days, but I really didn't think anything of it.
I wouldn't leave her alone.
Finally, she looked at me with tears in her eyes.. eyes that looked so distant.
"Don't you -care-? I feel like I'm DYING, Desiree."
A few hours later, she was rambling in her sleep about.. babies. She head babies crying. She wanted to find the babies. They needed someone.
In my horror and shock, I sat by her bed, smoothed her hair, and convinced her that I would make sure the babies were taken to their mothers. They were okay.
She slipped into a deep sleep.
The next night, I fell down the stairs and broke my little toe in the middle of the night. I got home from the emergency room the next day. I was awakened a few hours later my the sound of a stretcher being taken down the stairs.
My mind flew back to her first day in the hospital. Before she had to be put into a medically induced coma.
I took her hand, and told her I loved her, and that I would see her when she got out.
A day later, where I stared at her beautiful face, held her swollen hand, and told her it was okay to let go.
But most painful of all. A month before where she was crying, talking about my soon coming birthday. And I heard her say "She's about to turn 16. She isn't going to need me anymore. I always swore I would stay alive at least until she turns 16..."
Cold realization.
it was the day after my 16th birthday.
She did not feel needed anymore.
So. She let go.
She did not feel loved anymore.
So she left me.
I had pushed her away. And now, I was alone.