“A Witness of Her Last Days”

Tonight I have to write a short story as an English assignment. I searched through all the hidden corners of my mind; I pressed hard on my imagination to come up with a fictional event to write about, but the reality I’m living right now is stronger and it impedes me from thinking of anything else. Reality is harsh and sometimes harder to write about than fiction.
This evening we arrived at seven o’clock at my grandma’s house, were we paid an emergency visit. I had been there yesterday, but my sisters hadn’t seen her since last weekend. I had been told by my mother that grandmother was worse than yesterday; yet, in the bottom of my heart I held on to the hope that there could have been some improvement in her health. My hope, however, was shattered.
She was lying in the hospital bed my uncles had accommodated in her bedroom. One of her eight sons, the doctor, was by her side, along with his wife and four children. They were praying the 4th mystery of the Rosary, which my grandmother wouldn’t pray anymore.
I wasn’t brave enough to look at her face, so I turned towards my cousins. I came face to face with my 5 years old cousin and in his eyes I saw an expression I’d never seen before, an expression I now find very difficult to describe. There was profound sadness, but the kind of sadness of somebody who doesn’t understand what is happening; it was the look of a child who doesn’t completely understand what is happening, but knows something is terribly wrong.
I turned to the other faces. My aunt was hugging her oldest daughter, the one who is eleven. Both had tears in their eyes. “Don’t cry now, please not now, not yet,” I thought as I turned to my middle sister who was at my side. She was crying too. I hugged her. From the bed I heard gasping sounds and found the nerve to look at my grandmother’s face.
The woman in the bed was a stranger to me. Her eyes were shut, and would only open when she coughed. She had very little hair left and her formerly wrinkled forehead was smooth now like the skin of a baby. Her nose, once very proud and elegant, was now violated by a long, thin feeding tube. Her lips had disappeared and only a hole remained through which she fought for air. It was as if she were wearing a mask, immobile and expressionless. The rest of her body was just as immobile and very swollen because of the effects of the medication. It was at this moment, and not before, that my hope left me, leaving room only for the harsh reality. Tears flooded my eyes.
I had been foreseeing this for a long time, but I had never expected it to happen in such a rush. None of us had. Just five days ago, last Sunday, my aunts and uncles were still going over the possibilities of taking her to the hospital. They had expected some recovery, and had given it a rest for a day. Monday proved that no treatment in human power would ever get my grandmother back as she used to be. It was then that my aunts and uncles, along with my oldest cousins had decided to let her go, as that was, most certainly, what she would have preferred. But my heart had begun to let her go since earlier.
Since I remember my mother’s mother has always been a good victim of all kinds of sicknesses. In my memories as a child I always see had my grandmother taking different pills for her different illnesses. Two pills stand out in my mind: a huge round pink one and a tiny one, which she would most frequently lose. These were the ones which controlled her epilepsy, and if it hadn’t it been for them, she would have left us long ago, victim of an attack. The collateral effects of such strong medicines were the cause of her present condition.
The Rosary was over, but I had barely noticed. As my little cousins continued on their fruitless efforts of talking with her, my mind began to wander in the past, for I wanted to know exactly when it had been that I had begun preparing for the worst.
I first tried to remember when was the last time I had seen her in full strength. Memory brought me as far as my aunt and uncle’s, Tere and Alonso’s, 25th wedding anniversary. A party had been held then and “Mama Chali”, as we call my grandma, had recited a poem as in her best times in youth. Suddenly another flash from that day came to me: not two hours after the recitation she had a premonition: “I don’t think I’ll live to 2004”. Nobody had taken her seriously and told her to be more optimist, but now I wonder if her mind knew that her body was starting to deteriorate. Now that I go over it, I’m certain it was that, for she was never that healthy again from that day on.
As the months passed more and more little complications began destroying her health. We all knew she wasn’t well, and she had her ups and downs, but for more than four months she was quite stable. Then the complications began in earnest, in front of my very eyes, and it was, perhaps, from December the 22nd that I began to understand how serious her problem was.
We had invited her to my house a few days before Christmas, as she was to help us in bake the date pies. The task was a complete failure and the reason was that my grandmother would fall asleep whenever she sat anywhere and to get any indications on the recipe from her was completely impossible. That day we believed that she was simply tired but, the next day proved us wrong.
The 23rd of December she awoke at 12 pm and, after having my sister and a cousin helping her in the shower, she slept for the entire afternoon as well.
She woke up even later on the 24th and, incredibly enough, my sister and cousin couldn’t help her bathe anymore; it had to be done by my mother and me. Dressing her and preening her for the dinner took us almost the entire afternoon, for everything had to be done for her; she would barely move a muscle and she would shout in pain when we moved her. I was ever so confused for I understood she had lived almost alone in her house, except for her maid, and that she could handle her basic necessities by herself only three days earlier. I asked my mother about it but found her more confused and worried than myself.
On the 26th one uncle was to take her to Vallarta for a week. We had just one day to go, but perhaps that day was the worst. That day I helped her walk to the bathroom and as soon as we walked through the door she let herself fall. She actually let herself fall as she made no effort to remain on foot a few more seconds just to reach the toilet. In less than a second she was lying on the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever been so panicked in my life. I did my best to bring her to her feet, but I made no progress at all for she was too heavy for me. Even more panicked I shouted for my mom’s aid. Not even the two of us together were able to bring her up. Mom ran to get Dad. Meanwhile, I stood by her, completely heartbroken at seeing the once proud and strong woman just lying on the floor, half naked and completely unable to do anything for herself. I was then when it struck me that my grandmother’s last days had begun, and that she would never be the same again.
My aunts and uncles and their children found it much harder than me to accept and, in all their right; they did what they thought best for her recovery. They assigned a maid specialized in caring for old people to her, they changed medicines and hoped for the best. But I believe it might have been too late, because, as far as I understood the consequences of her strong medications had begun almost six years ago with the deterioration of her liver and the increase of ammonia in her brain.
Little by little she lost her muscle mobility. For two weeks she hadn’t been able to walk anymore and her days were limited to moving herself from bed into a wheelchair and back by a nurse who, given the conditions, had replaced the other caretaker. Her memory left her almost at the same speed; just last Sunday I had her tell me my name for the last time after a succession of six wrong tries.
I had seen her the day before in the afternoon, she had still chewed the tiniest slice of cheese, but now…

I was drawn back to reality by my little sister urging me to say goodbye to my grandmother. We had to leave because my sisters still had homework and my dad had some work to do. After all life, continued for us, and I had been wondering about its whole purpose and meaning for a while now. Given that my grandma was to leave it at last, then what was life all about anyway?
“Mama Chali, good bye, I have to leave you now, but I’ll be here tomorrow. I hope to find you better.” I kissed her on the cheek and for the first time that afternoon I saw her open her eyes, trying to focus on me, and less than a second later they were shut once more. I don’t know if there will be a tomorrow for her; from the depth of my heart I hope there is, but only He who knows it all can tell. For a long time now I’ve been trying to get used to the idea of loosing her. Just a moment earlier I’d believed I’d already had, but I guess nobody is prepared for a moment like that.