Bliss, life, death, and more bliss
I found myself making up fictional stories, horrifying ones, to accompany the photos Dooce referred to. Knots hit my stomach as I started filling in the words for these victims… and then I realized my stories weren’t… even…. true.
My imagination tends to do that, quite often. I have the instant vision of the worst possible outcome, and rarely are things ever that bad. Sometimes, though, life presents a reality, so clear, so convincing that you have no choice but to overlay your worst nightmares and fears with something much more hopeful, serene and beautiful.
I started remembering the non-fiction stories I do know about life before death. Now, that is a picture of bliss. So, Susiej, instead of creating all this horrible images, why not comfort yourself with bliss? The bliss you know to be real? Here’s my version of an image of life before death:
No, there was no camera within reach that night, but I can describe the most important images for you.
It was after-visiting hours, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I just got back in town. Maybe this would be the night that she would hear my voice, and finally wake up.
Her door was locked. I started to knock, to be pushy and get myself into the room to see my own Mother… but then I stopped. I looked into the narrow rectangle of glass and watched the two nurses work in that caring way that good nurses do. They were washing my Mom’s hair, changing the dressings on her IVs, and sponging her clean. Then, and now, when I remember this scene, it brings back the feeling I had when I was sick as a child, and my Mom would bathe me. Do you remember how amazingly good that felt, as a child, to be so sick, and then to have someone wipe your face with a warm washcloth? That’s what I felt then. A wave of comfort just washed over me… and again now, just remembering that. There were hard times between my Mom and me… but I remember this sweet moment. This is what I want to leave standing in my memory. So, I choose to do so.
Her pink manicured toes were starting to show the signs of wear and tear from hospital days… 20 days with no manicure maintenance. (My fingernails looked pretty ragged themselves… as the trauma of the last 20 days had left me with only the resources to do the bare minimum of maintenance on myself, while still managing the children at home.) Still, as the nurses laid my Mom back down on the bed, and her head hit the pillow, she looked so radiant… so refreshed… so peaceful… and so completely ready to go.
At this point, I finally got it. The idea of asking her that question, again, no longer felt right. Had I been making her feel obligated all this time? Asking her to hang on in this world that she was already, clearly, ready to leave? For the first time in the 20 days that she lay attached to the ventilator, I wouldn’t ask her to get better. Not tonight. I would let her have her peace.
So no, the look of death is not so horrifying.
I turned to leave, quietly, so as not to make a scene in the hospital after-all, for arriving so late. The security guard stopped me, “You’ll need this token to leave the parking lot. The parking attendants have all left for the night.”
Three Word Wednesday. Prompt: glass, question and token.
