By David Vorhees
She lay there, unable to move. She wouldn't even if she could; she knew it would hurt too much. She had been in pain, a lot of pain, these past few months. She was dying, and she knew it. At 93 years old, she knew it wasn't growing pains.
She was 92 when she checked into the nursing home. Her birthday was yesterday, but she couldn't celebrate it. Yesterday was no different than today. The past four days had been the same for her. It had only been four days, and she knew that, but it had felt like a lifetime. Time moves slowly when you can't move at all.
The pain had been agonizing, so they put her on painkillers; she could barely feel anything anymore. The painkillers dulled the pain, but it was still lingering, waiting for the meds to subside. It was still there throbbing but quietly. The pain would rise and scream, and they would administer more painkillers and quiet back down.
She could hear but couldn't talk, but there was so much she wanted to say.
She heard her son tell her he loved her, that it was ok for her to move on, and that he would miss her. Although it was hard, she could hear the sobs of her children and grandchildren. She could hear the slow electronic beep of the heart monitor. She could hear the sound of another machine pumping air into the mask over her mouth and nose.
She couldn't see. Whatever painkiller she was on prevented her from opening her eyes. After four days of darkness, she yearned for the light, any light.
She could think, and she had been over the last four days. She had been thinking about herself as a child, about Bobby Anderson, the first boy she ever kissed, Taylor Gardner, the first boy she ever loved, her husband Mitch Gardner, Taylor's brother, and how he was the man whom she had loved the most. She thought of her children, her grandchildren, and watching them grow. And she thought of how her grandchildren were now grown. She thought, no, she knew she had led a good life, and now she was ready to move on, but she couldn't. She didn't know how.
Her husband had died almost 15 years ago, and she called out to him in her mind asking him, then begging him to come to show her how to die. She prayed, and he didn't come. She had been sick for a while now with the one disease no one can beat- old age. And she had been fighting that losing battle for nearly 30 years.
She heard someone walk into the room. "It won't be long." She heard a man's voice say. It was the doctor, her doctor. The one who told her days ago that she would die very soon and all he could do was lessen the pain of death. A bolt of pain rushed through her body, and she heard the beep of her heart begin to quicken; then she felt relief as the painkiller spread, cooling down the areas the pain had ignited.
She felt someone else enter the room. She didn't hear the door open, but she knew another was there with her and her family. She wasn't sure who it was, but she knew it was friendly. It wasn't another nurse or doctor but someone familiar. Whoever had entered must have when the bolt of pain had coursed through her, she thought, then she felt something cold touch her hand. She felt the cold flesh as whoever it was had taken ahold of her hand and opened her eyes.
He was standing next to her bedside near the doctor and her eldest granddaughter. He was talking with dark black hair, but she could see a pepper of gray showing. He wore a dark suit, and he smiled when he looked at her. He was beautiful in her eyes. He had begun to pull slightly on her hand, and she sat up, never taking her eyes off him. Then using her hand, he guided her to stand up, and she did. When she realized she was standing next to the bed she had been confined to, she gasped and braced for the pain that would never come. She smiled.
She looked at her arms and legs; they were tight and firm. The skin was smooth. She was young again. She turned to look at her son to see his reaction, and when she did, she saw he was staring at the bed still. Then she heard the single tone of her heart monitor. Shen looked down and saw her old broken body still lying there. She watched as the doctor turned off the heart monitor and the breathing machine. She watched as her chest rose and fell for the last time. "She's gone," she heard the doctor say, and she wanted to scream that no, she was not, that she was right here, but she knew he couldn't hear her
She turned towards the familiar stranger. "Am I dead?" she asked and watched as he smiled and nodded. "May I say something to my family? I know they won't be able to hear me with their ears, but maybe they will with their hearts." She said, and he smiled and nodded again. She turned and said, "I love you all very much. I am no longer in pain, and I am happy. I regret nothing in my life and cherish all of you. I want you to know I am happy."
She watched as her son hugged his wife, "She is no longer in pain. She is with Dad now." She heard him say.
With that, she turned back to the stranger. "Will I get to see him, my husband, Mitch?"
The man's smile grew even bigger, and he nodded. "He has been waiting for you." He said as they began to walk towards the door. This time she smiled; had she still been in her body, she would have cried tears of joy. As they neared the door, she stopped, turned around, and said, "I will be watching over all of you and waiting till we can be together again." Then she turned to the dark, beautiful stranger and said, "Thank you for your gift."
"You're welcome," he said, and they moved on.
The End.
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