I will always remember

I stood still my eyes running over her beloved face.

She laid there, her countenance oddly drained of color. Her black kinky hair in two strange braids resting on the white pillow giving her the appearance of youth. One eye was slightly open pupils dilated while the other shut. The dark circles under them were more pronounced then ever before. Her lips were parched except for the little bit of wetness where the tube disappeared into her mouth, a bit of dried blood on the corner.

The white sheet covered her exposed chest, the one that had been cut open wide days ago…no…weeks ago. Her hands lay limp on either side. I looked at those hands, fingers and nails blackened, unused. Curious, morbid curiosity and maybe a glimmer of hope that maybe something had changed in the week that I had been gone from her side had me moving down to her feet to peek under the sheets. They too, her beautiful dainty feet, appeared unnaturally shriveled and blackened. This surprised me unlike anything else, this blackened state of her. This wasn’t the woman I knew. The woman I knew had always been so active…so alive. There had always been so much life in her but there she was right in front of my eyes looking the antithesis of her self.

It’s strange those things we remember in times of our greatest grief. I happen to remember her feet the most, those fingers and feet. They still flash before my minds eye when I’m not particularly thinking of her and even when I am, those are the things I remember with crystal clarity. Sure, I can recall as clear as if it happened yesterday the blank hopeless feeling I had as my eyes stole up her figure enrobed in all that hospital white to the myriad of tubing that slowly trailed down and up then up to the beeping, whirling, harsh sounding monitors. There had been so very many. They all stood prominently in the room, as prominent as the white. They made you perfectly aware of the fact that she no longer was in the care of you, but of them. They taunted and stood confident, unusual sentinels. For that moment, they were the savior. But those fingers and feet…those I remember best.

People came and went in waves, noise muted, voices hushed. Nurses came to check and scribble down on charts that would bring forth no solution only to shuffle back out leaving me alone with her. Family came in, some wept, some sighed, some prayed and blew over her, hoping that if even one prayer stuck…just one. They would fade, moving away in soundless steps as I stood on watching.

Taking her hand I felt how cold it was already. I stroked it, like I would have a baby’s which was appropriate I believe. Her name was Baby.

I spoke to her then, my voice low, a human murmur in a room full of mechanic noise. I leaned in and stroked back small fuzzy hair from her forehead, again letting my eyes travel down her most beloved face. My chest ached from the need to weep but I held on…I wouldn’t give up not until it was absolutely necessary. I spoke to her about my love for her, my need of her, my desolation at the thought of losing her. But she didn’t speak back. That one eye still slightly open, the other closed. She made no move to comfort me, to laugh up at me, to smile and say that “look, I’m fine.” She couldn’t do that. I felt betrayed by her for some odd reason.

Her youngest son walked in, eyes rimmed red from his crying, shoulders hunched with the weight of his grief, head bowed, lips held tight together. He stood near his mothers head and stared at her with such pain that I did not dare to look him in the eyes. Only when he came up behind me, lifted a hand to rest lightly on my shoulder did I turn my gaze up and realized with horror that a fine sheen of tears had blurred my vision. Oh how I hurt for him but in particular his children who would never know their amazing vibrant wonderful grandmother.

Instead of giving in to the urge to fling myself to him, I gave him a watery smile, hoping that I could feed him some encouragement but I knew I was doing nothing for him...what could I do when Allah had already given the edict?

I slipped out giving them time; he had such limited time after all.

As I walked down the hall, quiet except for more beeps emitting from each room, I thought of her, my minds eye still full of her vision. Nothing could vanish that face from my memory. Not then, not now. I took one instant to turn and look back into the room and regretted it. He stood there defeated and humbled before her, one hand resting upon her forehead soothingly much like I had done just moments before. His face contorted as I could see from even that distance the slight tremor in his hands. I wondered how he could stand there so calmly and watch her like that. I wondered at his strength and murmured a prayer for him that he could get through what was inevitably on the way.

But that was the last selfless act I would perform for a couple of hours to come. Even when I went out to see all my family looking lost in their misery and sadness I could not sympathize with them since I was equally lost, for that one moment, I wanted to live in my selfishness. I did not want to be a comfort to anyone. Later, later I would be there to give encouragement, to murmur platitudes that would helpfully bring about some sort of peace, to wipe away tears that ran unchecked down the cheeks of the mourners. But for then I ignored everyone and found a place where I could stand and stare and be cold.

I realized that Death was amongst us. Oh, I had long since realized that it had been coming and going for a while, the dark shadow of Death having been a constant companion to us for over a year, but still, during those moments Death was walking with us, listening to us, a silent ominous observer of the tears we shed, an unwilling ear to the prayers and pleas we emitted. Death stood tall and relentless before us and her in particular. We could do absolutely nothing. Allah had sent him to collect her. Could she see him, I had wondered? Could her soul see him walking amongst her loved ones while he ignored everything and concentrated upon her? Did she plead with Death to leave her alone, to give her one more day? Knowing her, she had which would account for why she had been with us for as long as she had after the heart attack. Another weaker soul would have capitulated long since to Death. Not her.

At the end, I was there. Do I regret having been there? No, never. I consider myself truly blessed that not only was I a part of that amazing persons life, but that I was one of the few chosen people to be there as she faded away. Others fled the room during those last moments but it wasn’t even an option for me. I was meant to be there, as I had been there with her throughout my own youth and into adulthood. She had done so much for me, brought me together with my own love, how could I even consider abandoning her in those moments when she most needed me? I like to think she needed me at least.

So even when my first instinct was to break down and deny what was happening, I instead watched Death take her easily from us, winning at the last, but then again, Death did always win, right? Of course the road to her death had been so hard, so very hard for such a loving soul. Her poor body…but I don’t want to recall what had happened to that dear body. No, I’d rather remember how peacefully she went. The beeps, the clicks, the whirring, the harsh sounds all faded slowly. We stood reciting our prayers into her ears, always diligent in our calls to God. If not keep her with us, fine, take her with love and mercy. No more suffering.

She went in the wee hours of the morning, her younger son to one side, her older son on the other. I stood at her feet gazing at the monitors steadily. The doctor had turned off the blood pressure medicine but kept the ventilator so that she would not have to take a last harsh breath. Her sons didn’t want to see her struggling for that last precious breath. They had told the doctors so, no less than two hours prior, “let her go in peace, however it’s done, do not let her gasp for air.” The older of the two had said.

My mother, her sister, sat on the ground close to me unable to stand and watch as her sister’s life passed away so slowly in front of our very eyes. Instead she kept her eyes trained on me, hopeful almost. The look in her eyes were like a plea, “tell me something good, tell me she’s fighting and living, tell me she will be alright.” But I could tell her no such thing. I had no words for her but a slight nod or a shake of the head. Still I felt comfort, not agitated. I didn’t mind. I wanted to take this away from my mother so bad. In fact I wanted to take it away from my cousins as well and from the rest of the family. My helplessness disgusted and terrified me. But I stood straight; my head covered murmuring the prayer over and over again until I felt my jaw ache from the silent chanting. My fingers remained clamped to her blanket covered feet as my eyes never left the monitor except to slide down to her face, then to my mothers and back up, a strange sort of waltz that only my eyes were performing.

Later, we walked out of the hospital, all of us. The sounds of those blasted beeps not even being drowned out by the sounds of the night traffic, the city sounds. Nothing erased those sounds nor the sound of her being taken off the ventilator. That horrid sucking reverberation that was worse than the beeps by far. I gazed around at the people who were a part of me, some a part of my DNA, some a part of my life, all a part of my heart. They stood with equally drooped shoulders as if they had no energy, only trying to figure out who would go home in whose car. I had mine and would drive home to pick up a few of my belongings before heading to my parents place for the rest of the week and weekend.

They feared me being in the car alone, that I would be scared, that I would be frightened of what I had just seen. But how could that be possible?

How could I ever be even the slightest bit scared of She who loved me sometimes loudly, sometimes silently, but always, loved me. No, fear was the furthest thing for my mind. I tilted my head up and watched the darkness already receding to light, a shiver steeling up my arms. A new day was at hand and I suddenly realized with a horrid jolt that she would never see it as she would not see so many other things.

She would not see another sunrise or sunset. She would never smell the roses she loved so much, nor would she listen to the music she adored. She would never again gaze upon the innocent fresh faces of her grandchildren in their youth or watch them grow into the adults they were destined to become. She would never again tell us to come to her home, to have dinner with her, to sit and gossip in her bedroom or to sing to us. She would never pout over small silly things, nor laugh outright over the ridiculous. She would never write a verse of poetry again only to turn around and make us sit and listen to her recite it out loud. She would never again request to be picked up from work, and she would never again be found walking from the mall with plastic shopping bags clutched and weighing down her hands. She would never again praise my cooking or housekeeping abilities, nor would she ever be able to see her beloved homeland. That dear creature would never again smile, cry, shout or gasp. Her eyes would never dance with the light of amusement, her mouth would never again quirk in memory and the love she had for us, which she sometimes bestowed in waves or stingily, would never again shower us in its beauty. She would never debate, argue or praise. She would never speak of her boys in such proud tones that everyone would smile in return.

No she could never do those things again and I felt in that instant, without question, that the world had lost something precious, I knew I had.