Departure

I wrote this for my NCEA creative writing assessment, where we had to write a piece of descriptive writing, describing a person or place. I chose my late Nana as my inspiration for the piece.

This was it – this was real. I had lost count of how many times I had walked into a room like this, but something told me it wouldn’t be happening again. As the nurse walked me in, one machine growled at me, while others beeped regularly, an ironic signal that nothing was wrong. The strong fumes of steriliser drifted around my nostrils as, heart pounding, I stepped forward to the bed in which my Nana lay, still. For almost two months now, I had been in and out of this same room daily, but had never before been greeted by just the machines, humming like impatient children.

As I stared at the chair, the ceiling, the bed – anywhere but her unnerving eyelids and ghostly face – I notice the perfect aptly-named hospital corners. Once they were a welcoming gesture in her home, but now they just upset me. The stiff, starched sheets that would tomorrow belong to someone else held my Nana close, but they were not comforting. I liked to think I knew this strong, independent woman, yet now, as only the pillows piled around her supported her feeble figure, she was more of a stranger to me than ever before.

 

Her arms, always tinged a worrying shade of purple, were now bruised all over. All it took was the slightest bump for the elephant skin to swell and change colour. My eyes travel down to the white band, her only source of identity. How sad that her life had been reduced to a label, despite how hard she always fought to avoid being labelled. Name, date of birth, doctor’s name and patient ID number. This was what the woman I so admired had become. Her cracked, blooming skin and frail bones were now all that encased her retiring organs, and the various pills she struggled to remember each day were now all that kept her alive. The vibrant, lively old lady that had once inspired and astounded me had become a mere shell of her old self.

 

A sudden beep startles me and I’m surprised to find my cheeks wet as I grab my Nana’s bony claw. I let the hot waterfall of tears flow over my cheeks until there is a knock on the door. I’m out of time. ’This is goodbye,’ I whisper as I get up from the bed, turn, then stop. She deserves more than this. I bend over the pale, shrivelled woman I once knew, her chest barely moving now, and put my lips to her cheek. I give her one last unrequited embrace, then tiptoe to the door. I smile desolately at my brother as it creaks open, then run, run, run, until I can no longer hear the blips and beeps of my Nana’s final breaths.

 

Reviews

[C-Trainer]

I hope that you got a good grade on this in your class because it is very descriptive, readers can feel like they are there watching this unfold. I'm sorry for the loss, but you captured the moment and emotion very well. I think that a lot of people will be able to relate to this piece, and help some, which is a good quality to have in your writing.