The morning after Uncle Peter's spat with Jeannie, Grandma Maud felt pain. She described it as the "stitch" you feel in your ribs when you run too much. Over the next two days, the stitch worsened. She became nauseated and dizzy.
Aunt Roxanne and Leslie examined her, but couldn't find a cause. Dr. Harman was also stumped.
By the second day, the pain was unbearable. Thankfully, small doses of Demerol and large doses of marijuana alleviated both the pain and nausea.
Grandma Maud prepared herself for the worst. She put her house in order and, with Grandpa Kevin's help, wrote her own eulogy.
When she started having respiratory problems on the third day, Dr. Harman suggested oxygen might help. Uncle Peter and I scavenged an oxygen tank and gurney from the hospital. By the time we returned, Grandma Maud was dead. We had missed our chance to say goodbye.
It was fortunate Grandma Maud had written her own eulogy because Grandpa Kevin was in no shape to write one. He, Mom, and Uncle Peter were inconsolable.
So it was left to me to build the funeral pyre. While I was still stacking the wood, Uncle Peter came out and asked me if I wanted to come in to hear the eulogy. His eyes were sunken and red. His voice was lifeless. I told him I'd rather finish up. Uncle Peter just nodded and shuffled back inside.
I didn't want to attend the wake because this death was different from Great-Grandpa Ned's. My grief was mixed with guilt. I felt as if I had failed to save Grandma Maud somehow. I didn't want to share my grief with everyone else. Building the pyre on my own was my penance.
Grandma Maud's body was wrapped up in the bedsheet she had died on. Uncle Peter and I used the hospital gurney to reverently transport her body to the pyre. Then we soaked the wood in lighter fluid and lit it. The wood was green, so it billowed and snapped a lot. Soon, the pyre was a flaming tower of intense heat and swirling white smoke woven with sparks.
From the house, we could hear Sarah's saxophone and Vanessa's violin, playing "My Heart Will Go On".
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Agoraphobia
General FictionA heroic eleven-year-old girl struggles to survive in a dying world plagued by a contagious form of agoraphobia (fear of being outside).
