Learning To Love

She was still here. She couldn't speak, but she could still hear. Hearing, it seemed was her last remaining sense. Even the swabs they used to wet her parched mouth, lemon-flavored, had no taste. At least she could remember the taste of her favorite foods like the seven fishes of Italian Christmas Eve dinner, the sweet bread on Easter her daughter-in-law would bake, and her Bailey's Irish Cream. She got a bottle every Christmas and birthday from her sons or her grandchildren. Maybe she didn't appreciate them as much as she should have. Too late for regrets, time to accept and move on.

People came to visit and call phones were held to her ear so she could hear goodbyes from those who lived far away. She remembered not being able to conceive the idea of dying, but here she was, in this nursing home where just a week ago she was at the crafts table making a frame that would hold a picture. A picture of whom, she wasn't sure. Her family, bound to her by blood didn't exactly enjoy her company. She knew she could be a pain, but she couldn't help it. She grew up in a house where she was always treated as a priority and that feeling of entitlement lasted throughout her life. Her family was very tolerant of her, but their distance sometimes made her angry.

She heard her name over and over those last couple of days, followed by memories from her children, grandchildren, and friends. She wished she could speak back to them, but she was so numb, she could only moan in response. Her daughter-in-law and oldest son had flown back from California to see her. She didn't know why, but she always had a difficult time telling him how proud she was of him for all his accomplishments. She didn't make his life growing up easy. He struggled, but he got through. If anything, she gave him a thick skin. She treated other people the same way, never giving them the credit, they deserved or held a grudge for putting other things in their life before her.

Her sons, she had three, treated her well and she couldn't complain, but they left her for wives and children and to have lives of their own separate from her. Her husband left her too. Cancer had taken him much too early. He left her alone. She never forgave him for that, but if you asked her about him, she would always put him in a magnificent light. That was her way. She could be so cunning but cover it nicely in a sugar coating, so people never knew what they were going to get. A therapist once told her he didn't think she had the ability to truly love anyone. Maybe that was true, but she did her best. It was all she could do.

Her granddaughter held her hand and she pulled away, she felt something. It was pain. She thought her sense of feeling was gone, but here it was. It almost felt like her hand was burning. Her granddaughter let go but allowed her hand to lie under her grandmother's palm. She was thankful for this, for her granddaughter not being offended and pulling away. She still craved the comfort of attention.

She could feel her breathing shallow and her limbs tensed. She could hear the nurse say to her granddaughter, "It won't be long now." She thought this moment would scare her, but she was ready to go. At this point she didn't care, she was tired, so tired.

Her son, the one from California was called into the room. She was waiting for him, her firstborn. He had not said anything to her since he arrived. She knew this was hard for him and couldn't jab him with her sarcasm like she did when she knew he was battling with something, He told her to go see her husband, his father. He was choking back tears. She felt oddly happy that she was able to get such a reaction from him. After all the years of her being a pest, he was still sad to see her go. He did love her...

She felt the room closing in around her and although she could hear her family whispering their goodbyes and their words of love, their voices seemed farther away. Soon she couldn't hear, couldn't see, and couldn't feel. Yet, she still "existed." What was this, limbo? Then, she felt a pull and saw a faint light. She traveled toward the light and her room came into view. Everyone was in the hallway speaking, but she couldn't hear what was being said. She saw her granddaughter walk toward her and appeared as though she was in shock, then softened and muttered something that could have been "goodbye." She turned, walked into the hallway where she grabbed her boyfriend's waiting hand, and disappeared around the corner of the hallway.