| Biographical Non-Fiction posted August 20, 2024 |
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Something I Will Never Forget
I Remember
by Begin Again
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I remember you standing outside Grandma's hospital room by the nurse's station. It was a moment of disbelief, a contradiction between what I knew couldn't be true and what my eyes told me.
I remember only moments earlier that the doctor had told Grandma and me that the cancer had spread throughout her body, and her organs were shutting down.
I remember trying to understand why she didn't seem to be in pain. I was beyond grateful but totally baffled, and so was the doctor.
I remember feeling — no, that's wrong — terror owned me. I couldn't think straight. I was so unprepared for what he'd said. The news of her condition was a sudden and unanticipated blow.
I remember desperately trying to tell myself it would be alright, but knowing it would never be right again. I spent every day with my mother, and now she was going to be gone. The prospect of facing this loss alone was daunting.
I remember thinking how it would be so different if you were here. You would have explained everything with your medical knowledge and helped me accept what was to be.
I remember Grandma looking strangely at me and asking what was wrong. My face was drained of color, and my eyes were filled with tears.
I remember I didn't know how to answer her. I had no words that would paint the picture.
I remember lifting my phone off my lap and raising it to take a picture. With one click, you were captured inside my cell for an eternity.
I remember showing Grandma the picture, and her eyes glazed over. She looked at me, and her voice was low when she said, "That's Wendy."
I remember nodding my head, knowing what she would ask me next.
I remember the chill when she asked, "When did you take that picture?" I answered, "Just now."
I remember and will never forget when she asked, "Did she come to take me home?"
I remember I choked back my tears, and words wouldn't come. I stared at the picture, thinking it was impossible, but there you were, as clear as day inside my phone.
I remember the nurse coming into the room and apologizing for bringing the meds in late because she was alone at the desk.
I remember saying, "Oh, I just saw another girl in scrubs, too. Wasn't she helping you?" as I tried to convince myself I didn't have a picture of you. The girl in scrubs was a figment of my imagination, a desperate attempt to deny the reality of your presence.
I remember the nurse saying, "No, no one's been here for hours."
I remember looking at your picture because now you were gone from my sight, but you'd given me a gift before you left. The gift of reassurance that I wasn't facing this alone.
I remember believing that I wasn't alone and that you would be there when it was time for Grandma to enter heaven. She wouldn't go alone.
I remember you'd left this Earth three years ago, but I knew you hadn't forgotten us.
I remember, and I shall never forget.
Nonfiction Writing Contest contest entry
I remember you standing outside Grandma's hospital room by the nurse's station. It was a moment of disbelief, a contradiction between what I knew couldn't be true and what my eyes told me.
I remember only moments earlier that the doctor had told Grandma and me that the cancer had spread throughout her body, and her organs were shutting down.
I remember trying to understand why she didn't seem to be in pain. I was beyond grateful but totally baffled, and so was the doctor.
I remember feeling — no, that's wrong — terror owned me. I couldn't think straight. I was so unprepared for what he'd said. The news of her condition was a sudden and unanticipated blow.
I remember desperately trying to tell myself it would be alright, but knowing it would never be right again. I spent every day with my mother, and now she was going to be gone. The prospect of facing this loss alone was daunting.
I remember thinking how it would be so different if you were here. You would have explained everything with your medical knowledge and helped me accept what was to be.
I remember Grandma looking strangely at me and asking what was wrong. My face was drained of color, and my eyes were filled with tears.
I remember I didn't know how to answer her. I had no words that would paint the picture.
I remember lifting my phone off my lap and raising it to take a picture. With one click, you were captured inside my cell for an eternity.
I remember showing Grandma the picture, and her eyes glazed over. She looked at me, and her voice was low when she said, "That's Wendy."
I remember nodding my head, knowing what she would ask me next.
I remember the chill when she asked, "When did you take that picture?" I answered, "Just now."
I remember and will never forget when she asked, "Did she come to take me home?"
I remember I choked back my tears, and words wouldn't come. I stared at the picture, thinking it was impossible, but there you were, as clear as day inside my phone.
I remember the nurse coming into the room and apologizing for bringing the meds in late because she was alone at the desk.
I remember saying, "Oh, I just saw another girl in scrubs, too. Wasn't she helping you?" as I tried to convince myself I didn't have a picture of you. The girl in scrubs was a figment of my imagination, a desperate attempt to deny the reality of your presence.
I remember the nurse saying, "No, no one's been here for hours."
I remember looking at your picture because now you were gone from my sight, but you'd given me a gift before you left. The gift of reassurance that I wasn't facing this alone.
I remember believing that I wasn't alone and that you would be there when it was time for Grandma to enter heaven. She wouldn't go alone.
I remember you'd left this Earth three years ago, but I knew you hadn't forgotten us.
I remember, and I shall never forget.
 Recognized |
Wendy is my daughter and granddaughter to my mom who died of cancer. She died at 44 from a ruptured valve in her heart as she was finishing her masters degree. She was always the go-to when medical questions would arise. She died in 2014 and my mother passed in 2017.
I initially wrote this for Today's Writing Prompt - I Remember and then learned that I wasn't eligible. So I searched out another contest which happens to be ending next year (oh well) and entered it so everyone could read.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. I initially wrote this for Today's Writing Prompt - I Remember and then learned that I wasn't eligible. So I searched out another contest which happens to be ending next year (oh well) and entered it so everyone could read.
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