Remembering
You
AutumnLaren Benson
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Ten: Free Write
Scintillations
The Beach
Remembering
You
Julie Day
Current Events
Sex And The Country
Stirring Up The Dust
Letter to My Younger Self
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Moody Girl
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Box of Skeletons
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The
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Issue Eleven: Play
Issue Twelve: Synchronicity
I gasped when I looked over and saw the tube coming from
your nose and wrapped around each side of your head. It took
me a second to regain my composure before I walked over and
gently lay beside you on the tiny cot that the hospice
provided. You stared up at me, trying to manage the word
“hello.” I imagined you were saying, “Hi, Auti.”
I smiled at you bravely and tried to make sense of your
jumbled sentences. I struggled to make you laugh, but
your face was barred from emotion. You were only able to move
your eyes to see who entered the room. As the hours went
on, you grew more frustrated at our inability to understand
what you were trying to say, and you gave up. Or maybe
the morphine kicked in and allowed you to sleep, finally
closing your terrified eyes to get some rest. When you
woke, you had transformed and mentally, you were all there.
Your sentences were complete, and your words were smooth and
consistent. I told you I was leaving and said, “I love you
Gram.” As clear as day you replied, “I love you too, Auti.”
Those were our final words to each other.
When I peaked into your coffin in the days that followed, I
was surprised at how calm, peaceful, and happy you appeared.
There was no trace of the terrified gaze that had
earlier consumed your face.
Eager to rid my mind of that vision, I stared at you
for as long as time would allow, and replaced my memory of the
tubes that once helped you breathe with the gentle smile that
was now there. And
I prayed. I
prayed with all my might for the strength to get through this.
I prayed for strength for the rest of the family, who needed
it just as much as I did.
Brief flashes of memories raced through my mind as I
knelt by your coffin. One
after the other, I saw bits of conversations we had, your
laugh, vacations that we had taken together, something funny
that you had said, even the way you shaped your lips when you
came to kiss me hello. I giggled at the thought of you asking me repeatedly
about the dog, and cried at the thought that we wouldn’t be
making any more memories together.
And so you are gone. Now even the time spent reflecting
at your coffin is just a memory. I’m still unsure of how to
act. On the way home from the cemetery I dared a glance at
your apartment window, curious if the light was on, or if you
were out on the front porch smoking.
As I lay in bed once I got home, I thought about the
rest of the family, the young grandchildren who are left with
no grandparents, the unborn babies in the family who will
never meet you. I
prayed for my mother, and her sisters and brothers who no
longer had you in their lives.
I fell asleep thinking about you, and I woke up with
you still fresh on my mind.
Today, as I write this, I am angry that the rest of the
world goes on without skipping a beat.
But I am learning that it does go on. And when all we
have left are memories, we’d better try our hardest to keep
them bright in our minds.
I will never be ready to say goodbye to you, but I can
now begin to let go of the many emotions that have taken over
me. I can replace
them with the memories that I have of you, pulling them out
when I need a smile, and passing them along to others who
weren’t as fortunate to have known you.
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