Marry Me?

Thanks For The Puke

Her

I sat by my Grandma's hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up. To pass the time, I'd brought my writing journal and worked on my 'Developing Plots' section. The steady beeping of the machine reassured me that my Grandma was still alive. I didn't know for how much longer, though.

Our area was sectioned off by curtains, offering little privacy, so I felt the need to be extremely quiet. Even more so than usual. Grandma looked so peaceful when she's asleep, you wouldn't believe how loud and boisterous she is when she's awake.

Sitting on the stand beside me, was a freshly bought rose. An indigo rose, to be specific. Grandma liked it when I brought her a different colored rose each day. Monday is red, Tuesday is orange, Wednesday is yellow, Thursday is green, Friday is blue, Saturday, today, is indigo, and Sunday is violet. By the end of each week, she has the complete rainbow.

I'm going to miss getting the Rose of the Day for her when she's gone. Though, of course, not as much as I will miss her.

I was scribbling furiously onto the sheet of paper when a feeble, "Hi, Julie," made me look up. Grandma was giving me a weak grin, "Still writing, I see."

She didn't look so good so I went to her side, worried.

"How are you feeling, Nana?" I grabbed her semi-wrinkly hand. Grandma looked a lot younger than she actually was.

62 years old, with lung cancer, and she still managed to look beautiful with her smile.

"Eh, same old, same old," she tried to shrug, but any movement seemed to exhaust her.

I rubbed her hand comfortingly and waited in case she had anything else to say.

"Listen," she coughed. "Doctor Paul says I have about a month left until.... you know."

I kept my gaze on her hand, not wanting her to see the tears in my eyes. Grandma hates it when I show weakness, but I can't help it. She is the only person I have left.

I decided to look up and saw that she also was about to cry. She pushed a stray hair behind my ear and I leaned into her touch.

"Your mother would be so proud of you," Grandma also looked proud, which was rare because Grandma never thought writing was a serious profession. "I know, I don't usually say that kind of mush, but I've always thought it."

I leaned forward, wanting to hear more as her voice was getting quieter.

"Your mother was a writer. I resented her for it and she knew. I don't think I could leave you thinking I resent you for it, too.

"I wish I could've seen her do everything you will do," she went on and I felt guilt over wash me. It's my fault my mother's dead, I know it is. "Get married, raise a wonderful family..."

Her voice trailed off and I felt even guiltier. I'm never going to get married. I'm perfectly content living on my own, only having myself and Nana to support.

Grandma's eyelids slowly closed and in a drowsy voice, she said, "Autumn, promise me I'll get to see you married before I die."

"Nana, it's Julie, not Autumn-" I was cut off by a tight grip on my hand.

"Promise me," she repeated and I winced. She may be old, but she sure has an iron grip.

"I promise," I said, through gritted teeth.

She dozed off with a smile on her face, releasing me from her grip.

I stood up shakily, trying to collect my thoughts. How can I get married in less than a month?