Face The Music

Far From Here

The waiting room was quiet when I arrived to find Uncle Henry, sat in one of the old graying chairs lined up against the wall. He was staring at his hands, a blank look on his face and red in his eyes. 

"Uncle? I'm here," I said in a halting voice as I walked to him and knelt down to his eye level. "Has there been any news?"

He didn't even look at me. "I don't know. Last time I went in to see her, she was barely breathing."

"Well, she was breathing still, wasn't she? I'm going to go see her, okay?" Giving his arm a light pat, I stood up and went to find her. 

The halls were rushing with nurses and doctors, shouting orders at each other, what to get a certain patient, how to help another kid who got bitten by his rabbit, the old man in 108 needed his medicine, the woman in 351 was in labour and they needed more towels, the lady in 97 who had the stroke was starting to show signs of movement, the husband in 351 had passed out, c'mon man – wait! Was that Aunt Lynn in 97? Uncle Henry would find out soon enough. I had to go see her.

It wasn't 97, but maybe they'd gotten the number wrong. When I got into the room, I saw a nurse dabbing at Lynn's forehead with a damp towel. How exactly was that going to help? I shrugged and gave him a hey-there-I-know-you're-here-to-help-but-I-need-to-see-her look, and he scuttled out of the room with a curt nod. There was a chair sitting in the corner of the room, and I dragged it over to the bedside and sat down, chin resting on the bleached linen sheets. "Hey, Auntie, I heard that you're supposed to be showing signs of movement. Are you alright in there? What happened? I thought you were okay. You have to be okay, you know. Uncle Henry can't survive without you. For crying out loud, he doesn't know how to turn on the washing machine. I guess I don't know how, either. But really, you make him happier than anything. I'd die for a love like that. But you have it, so you can't die. Wake up, won't you?" She did nothing but breathe with shaky breaths, her graying blonde hair damp on the pillow. Where I held her hand, it was clammy and cold. 

I guessed that they really had been talking about a different lady who had a stroke. Aunt Lynn didn't wake up that day.

*2 days later*

"Wake up! I have so much to tell you." I bounced into the guest chair, grasping Aunt Lynn's hand in two of mine. "Remember Josh? Who am I kidding, of course you remember Josh. Well, he's honestly one of my favorite things. And you've been bugging me to play piano again from the start, and I don't know, I'm starting to think about it again. I've been dying for a life, a reason for some time now, and I'm almost afraid that I've found it. But I don't know what it is. You're supposed to help me with this stuff. You're supposed to help me. What are you doing in there?" 

Raising a finger, I traced a wrinkle line on her forehead, one that I was sure hadn't been there before. Had it? "Auntie," I whined. "Wake up. Uncle Henry is waiting for you. We're all waiting for you." She still didn't stir. I sighed and left. Visiting hours were over for the day.