Thoughts of the Past, Dreams of the Future

Daffodils

White sheets. White walls. White, squeaky floors. An open window. Seventies music on the radio. Week-old helium balloons drifting sadly, almost meekly, a metre or so above the ground. A get well soon card on the nightstand. A clipboard with vitals marked up. A year-old brain cancer diagnosis, hanging in the air. Denial. Anger. A vase with daffodils. Lukewarm tea, with two spoons of sugar, and just a dash of milk.

A kind, old lady lies in the hospital bed, her eyes trapped behind large, circular glasses, peering at the crossword puzzle perched delicately on her knees. Three down - orange. Four horizontal - Jefferson. She hums along to the song on the radio.
And suddenly, something shifted. The air gets lighter, and the elderly woman smiles.

“I knew you’d be showing up soon.”
“Hello again, Debbie. How are you today?” I ask, sitting down in the folding chair at her bedside.
“Ah, well. You know how it is.” She waves her hand, with casual disregard. “Lots of pain, but it’ll be over soon, won’t it?”
“Yes,” I smile. “It will be, I promise.” She smiles once more, a tear forming in her eye. She puts away her crosswords.

“We’ve had some pretty good times together, eh?” Her eyes light up behind those comical spectacles. “Remember jumping from cliffs in Greece? Or skydiving in Ontario?” She sits up straight in her bed, as though a little girl once more, speaking of beauty and hope. “Oh, we saw so much together! The savannah, fjords in Norway, Jerusalem, koalas, and kangaroos…” I smile sadly. “Oh, I’m going to miss it all so very, very much.”
“It doesn’t have to be the end,” I say, holding back the tears in my eyes. “Who knows what’s waiting for you on the other side, what’s waiting for us. We’ll have more adventures together, I promise.”

“You’re making a lot of promises for someone who claims to have no control over what happens next.” She chuckles, and stretches her arms, as though waking up from a long, beautiful dream, and briefly seems to shrink back into a shadow of her old self, once again feeling the weight of all the years of her life. “Besides, I’m too tired for adventures like the ones we used to have.” She looks around the small room expectantly. “Where are the others? I thought they would be here.”

“They couldn’t make it, I’m afraid. And I don’t think they’d manage to be here, to witness what comes next, what with you passing on.”
“True, the little ‘uns could get quite disturbed.” She nods, brushing invisible crumbs off her bedsheets, suddenly stopping, as though struck by some divine revelation, some ethereal wisdom. “What will happen to you, once I die?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “I suppose I just… move on. Sort of like you, Debbie.” I stand up, my legs shaking ever so slightly. My first charge, passing on. “Are you ready?” I ask quietly, concern in my eyes. Debbie smiles.

“Go on then,” She stretches out a hand. “Time for our next adventure, old friend.”
I take her hand and pull her out of the bed, leaving behind the shell that was once her body. She grows younger in my eyes, hair once more brown, wrinkles disappearing, back straightening. She discards her glasses with a hearty laugh. And then, all at once, we are gone, and the room is empty. All that is left behind is a vase with daffodils, white walls, and white sheets.