Word Soup

A Story by Kimberlee

Loosely based on a true story, this was more of a spontaneous piece for me. I hope its enjoyable for you. It comes from the perspective of a dear friend of mine. Names have been changed.

Through the great fog of exhaustion, I kept my eyes pealed as I anticipated the news with despair. My stomach was like a hollow pit that was spoiled sour with sickness. Here I was, almost nineteen years old, and all I could think about was her. As the minutes dragged on, I take in the setting around me inside the emergency room. What I witnessed was more of the set of a horror show, rather than an episode of ER. The combination of blinding lights along with the pungent scent of cheap disinfectant made the whole experience seem totally unreal. It was like a terrible nightmare I could not escape from. I begged myself to awaken. The people that surrounded my family were suffering the stereotypical ailments found in a hospital. There were people with the flu and the cold. Some of them were elderly, some of them were young. A small blonde haired child played Legos with her younger sister. Her mother kept rocking their baby brother. One boy had a broken wrist. To them this was just another annoying visit to the hospital. It was just another day in their mundane lives that would soon pass. But not for Nana.

Nana had a very low chance of survival. I knew she couldn't, but still I imagined her walking out of that door, laughing at the fact that we had to come all the way here for some silly little heart failure problem. Nana was like that. She never feared anything, and that is why we cherished her so. We all imagined that this feisty sixty-three year old woman would live well beyond her years. I expected papa to pass first. His legs had been removed over the years because of this diabetes, yet he still ate his syrup smothered french toast every morning. What can you do? He spent his waking hours in a mobile wheel chair watching jeopardy, while chain smoking rolled smokes. The air of death laid thick around him. Yet, he lived on.

Her pace maker had failed. She missed her appointment to have it replaced, and though nothing of it. Now she was on the verge of being toe-tagged, when she could have been at home enjoying her evening. I picture her watching Maury and shouting at the television when the verdict came in. I see her sitting on the porch with a pall mall menthol 100 hanging out of her mouth. The August sun flickers off of her thin white hair and golden skin. But death will steal her from me. I will never see her in those settings again. My cousin Beth said she had collapsed. She held Nana as she clutched her chest, her heart racing manically. She passed out, and stopped breathing. Papa was asleep in his chair. Uncle Reggie called the ambulance as Beth begged Nana to hold on. Tears beating down her soft fleshy cheeks, Beth prayed for a miracle. But her grip wasn't strong enough. It was time to let go.

The most agonizing part of letting go of someone you love is not knowing what to do next. As the doctors come out and call our name I can tell by their expressions that the situation was bad. As they spoke the words collided and slurred together into a slippery slope of word soup. I was numb. I hear my mothers voice catch as soft cry of doubt and despair slip between her lips. She was gone. Her life evaporated into thin air just moments ago, as simple as exhaling.