I open my eyes and the light is overwhelming. Every morning, evening, the same thing...the light shining from somewhere, everywhere.
As I try to sit up and make my way in the day, I find myself unable. Mobility; it is a lost art for me. Instead, I make a noise, something guttural, it comes out as “surrr”. Speaking too; do I have any arts left at my disposal?
In walks the woman. She’s here every day. She makes cooing sounds at me as though I’m an infant, newly born into this world, helpless. I seethe through my teeth, attempting to shout at her. I don’t need her there. I want her gone.
With great care, she empties the bag on the side of my bed. I nearly wretch when I see it. The contents are brown and deathly. Death, where the hell is that guy? He’s running late.
Gently the woman runs a warm, damp rag over my face. This feels good. I miss warmth. I miss sunlight on my cheeks instead of just in my eyes. I must make a pleasurable noise, the woman smiles and says, “Does that feel good?” Her smile is close to the sun. Maybe she’s not so bad.
With the help of a ward, the woman lifts my worn body into a wheelchair. We make our way slowly down a long hallway. The walls are eggshell white. Photos of birds and deer are haplessly hung on the walls. Who decided birds and deer were the optimal decor, I wonder.
At the end of the hall, a left turn reveals the large room that is our destination. There I see the other poor souls I share this space with. Some of them are sitting in chairs, others in wheelchairs like myself. None of them are talking much, and certainly not coherently. I have a vague recollection that I couldn’t stand places like this before. Before is but a poorly preserved memory now. Today I am one of the tenants making pharmaceutical reps nauseous as they pedal their goods, delivering samples of medication meant to prolong the inevitable.
The TV is on. It’s too damn early for TV, for me anyway. I prefer my mornings quiet. It is my time to think about the future. Well, I suppose TV is okay then; there isn’t much future left for me.
The woman spoon feeds me a large bowl of oatmeal. No sugar. No butter. Nothing to bring pleasure to the task of eating anymore. Now this regimen is a chore to sustain the shell that is giving out on me. Isn’t dying the perfect time for some fat, lard, bacon? There is certainly no reason for caution at this stage in the game.
After the chore is over, the woman wheels me to a sitting area. She smiles that warm smile and says something I barely hear, “visitors” I think. After several minutes, or maybe hours (I can’t track time anymore), bodies begin to move toward me. A sudden set of arms wrap themselves around my neck and I jolt away. As I look towards the source of this intrusion I see a young girl. Her curly hair is white, like a freshly born chicken. Her cheeks are rosy, and her smile is something like a million stars lighting up the sky. “Grandpa!” she squeals. Grandpa...grandpa. I grab at the word like a lightning bug, trying hard to catch its meaning.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a taller woman, her hair is brown, her face soft. I turn toward her and see the glint of a tear in her eye. From somewhere I hear the same squeal as before, only it echoes in my mind, “Daddy!”. I wrinkle my forehead, I’m growing curious as to where I know this woman. She crouches down and places her hand on mine, softly moving her thumb across the ridges, cracks, and darkened spots that mottle my skin. There are years in that touch, ages of love and memories. I can feel every single one.
She sits in a chair beside me and slowly, quietly she begins to sing, “Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling. Calling for you and for me. See on the portals he’s waiting and watching. Watching for you and for me…” Her voice is like the sigh of an angel or the first breath of spring. I feel a strange mixture of comfort and pride as I listen to her voice rise and fall with each word.
Gradually, as though scales are being peeled from my eyes, I see her, my daughter. The woman singing, it is my beautiful daughter. I recognize the nose I gave to her, and that set of eyes that could have come only from her mother. Cadence. My sweet little Cadence, so grown now.
Her eyes light up, surprise washes across her face. “Dad, it’s me, Cadence!” I go to speak but can emit only a groan. Oh, I want so badly to tell her I love her, to ask her what I’m doing here, to express to her how beautiful Lucy looks with her platinum hair in ringlet curls. I see her expression fall slightly, but she smiles quickly; her mother’s smile.
Tears begin to pool in my eyes like the puddles on a city sidewalk following a strong rain. Cadence hugs me, “It’s okay Dad. We love you. We love you.” I can smell the scent of lavender in her hair. I’m awash with memories of her as a baby and the lavender lotion that my wife used to apply with gentle care to Cadence’s porcelain skin. Her giggles as the coolness of the lotion wore into the soft, loving warmth of her mother’s touch.
Then, in my mind’s eye, I see Maureen, my wife. My soul. I see our wedding day, hear her whispering “I love you” in my ear. I see the times I caused her pain. Her beautiful gift of forgiveness still reverberates in my entire being. She always forgave so completely any wrongs done against her, no matter how undeserving the other person. And I was always undeserving.
Every bit of me revives back to life. I feel as though I could dance, maybe even run. Run away from here, from this place where death’s shadow is a constant lingering presence, a reminder that birth into the eternal is imminent.
I go to stand, to prove to anyone, but especially to Cadence, that I am not among peers in this room. But my body cannot obey my mind anymore. And then it starts, the erasing. I fall fast back into my mind, I see everything again but slowly it all starts to become someone else’s memories. Foreign. A picture show. I groan, I cry out, I weekly toss an arm into the air. I try my hardest to fight the invisible force that is stealing Cadence and Lucy and all my life from me like an unrepentant thief. Maureen’s gentle smile fades away from my mind, her eyes are beckoning me to never forget her. I was always undeserving, even now.
The woman that is here everyday rushes to me. I feel a sting in my arm, a stream of cooling calmness crawling through my body. My breathing slows back to a normal pace. I see a tall woman, with brown hair, a little girl adorned with ringlets, dancing like a ballerina to the music on the TV. It’s too damn early for TV.
I do not want to be in this room anymore. The sunlight is pouring in, shining from everywhere, overwhelming me. The woman wheels me down a long hallway. Birds and deer and eggshell white. I’m lifted into bed, covered, the shades drawn. I’m frightened by these strange surroundings and wonder how I got here.
My wondering gives way to my exhaustion from the sting, I close my eyes. Flashes of a kind face, smells of lavender, giggles and squeals play in my head. I don’t try to place them in any order or assign them reason. I simply let them overtake me as I drift away from this strange place and into my dreamless sleep.
