I was with her today. She had been unconscious for days, wrapped tightly in blankets like a newborn so her arms clutched her chest; she would die probably without regaining any sense of life.
Yet today, for a moment, she raised her sallow face, the crevasses cut deep and angular by years and current malnourishment; her eyes slit to let the painful light of earth ease in for just one more second, and she saw me. It was probably the last face she'll see from this life she chose.
Tv Trays As Seen On Tv
They mull about the room, maybe not as confused as we think, staring at the dying mother, for death is here and nudges them too as a reminder of what will and must come. He lingers with us in the hospital hallway outside the room, a friend we hate, pressing us, daring us to crack an errant joke or mention God. He knows (Death does) our ignorance and our faulty gaze, and maybe instead of reveling in our fear he tries desperately, in horror, to make us see his side; we are averted.
Still, death has always been an old friend of mine, my study companion, the one I trust to release me someday. I study my grandmother's hollow mouth, her shallow breath, and I smile silently to myself, hoping the others, who couldn't understand, haven't seen.
He's come for her, but he's simply an escort this time - she's called this shot. She commanded death to halt for a moment as she gazed upon me, upon this light, for a moment before the change (she died later that night at 4 am). I love you, Nonnie. Have a great trip.