Grandma and Granddaughter Chat - Meryl Baer

Granddaughter: How are you feeling?

Grandma: Oh, I’ve been better…I’m so glad you made it. I wanted to see you before (long pause) this weekend. Come, sit here next to me on the bed.

The old woman reaches out her hand, and I take it between my hands and sit on the edge of the hospital bed, grasping Grandma’s crinkly, chilled hand. It is all I can do to stifle the tears.

How is school?

Busy, mid-terms coming up. I’m spending most of my time studying and writing papers. Still cold outside but signs of spring beginning to appear. Most of the snow finally melted. The sun shines a little longer each day when it’s not raining, unfortunately it rains most days…So tell me, Grandma, you looking forward to going back to the bungalow this summer?

The old woman smiles.

You know, cut the crap honey. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to die right here in this hospital bed, and sooner rather than later. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. I don’t want to go, but obviously my time is up. I bet I seem old to you. I’m wrinkled, wear clothes you probably consider dowdy and old-fashioned or just ugly, but they’re comfortable. I like them. They’re me. You know honey, when you reach a certain age you don’t care about what others think. Or you shouldn’t care. 

She paused.

I want you to be a brave and strong woman. 

I love you, Grandma.

I know, and you and your sister are my pride and joy. You girls can do anything. Sometimes you – not so much your sister - are wimpy, I hate to say it but it’s true. You have to assert yourself more, be loud if necessary, stamp your foot…

That’s not very ladylike, Grandma. I thought I’m supposed to be a lady.

Not all the time, not you, be a spunky kid. Your Aunt Nettie is a lady, with the right silverware on her holiday table and China dishes and knickknacks all around. And look how much she accomplished? Nursing head of something-or-other in a big city hospital. But you’re not like her. You’re more like me. Work hard, stay in the background. But things are changing. Sweetheart, do me a favor and don’t stay in the background.

Again Grandma paused. Conversation was exhausting her. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, fighting for each breath. I still held her hand. A couple of tears slid down her cheeks. After a few minutes she opened her eyes again, looked at me and smiled.

I like that boyfriend of yours. I don’t know if he’s the one, but he’s a good one. If not him, I hope – no, I know – you’ll make a good choice. You’re not rash or out to defy your parents or anyone else and make some kind of stupid statement. You’ll do the right thing. But most important of all, honey, be yourself. Don’t let others lead you around or talk you into doing something you don’t want to do. And of course finish school. No matter what, finish school. You never know…

She paused again, her eyes closed and this time she fell asleep.

What really happened:

Mom called me at school to tell me the end was near. A four-hour bus ride ended in Manhattan. My boyfriend picked me up and we drove to the hospital on Long Island, another one hour trip.

I enter the hospital room grasping Bob’s hand. In the middle of the bed a tiny figure lay, curled into a fetal position, unrecognizable. Tubes connected her nose and body to monitors beeping beside the bed. An emaciated, wrinkled figure, her skin almost transparent, her snow-white hair in disarray – quite unlike Grandma - the woman’s shallow breaths, barely audible, coincided with her chest as it pulsed up and down.

Did Grandma know I was there? Could she hear me? Understand me? There was no way of knowing. I talked to her for a few minutes. No change, no sign of recognition. I walked out of the room, tears running down my face, and went home. 

Eight o’clock the next morning the hospital called. Grandma died during the night. 

I like to think she waited for me before leaving us.

Originally published by Burning House Press with the title “Incompleteness” on May 25, 2019

Baer, retired from a career in finance, lives at the New Jersey (USA) shore. Relatives and friends descend all summer, except during the summer of 2020, when nobody came. No one visits in winter, so she writes. Her work has appeared in anthologies and journals (eg.- Pure Slush, Pomme, Perspectives Magazine). Check out her blog, sometimes humorous and occasionally noteworthy – Musings of a Shore Life: https://merylbaer.net