Going Home (OFF #7)

She had been waiting for him.

She hated being here. Hospitals always reminded her of sadness. For some reason, the dark memories seemed to trump whatever happy memories occurred there. Births were overshadowed by deaths. The smells and the sounds made her wish for release.

She knew it wouldn’t be long. She couldn’t speak, and though she barely opened her eyes, she could sense those surrounding her. Her daughters, her granddaughters, holding her hand, combing her hair and talking to her. She loved that they were with her, these dear women whom she cherished. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for their presence.

But she could not leave without seeing him one last time.

She thought of the men she had lost, the wounds in her heart that hurt her still, even on her dying day. She thought of her husband, and her heart quickened to think of being reunited with him soon. They hadn’t always had an easy life or made all the right choices. But they had always loved each other. She thought of her son, the greatest loss of her life. Burying him as a young man had irrevocably changed her. It had left wounds that she had come to realize would never really heal, even after fifty years. How often she relived the event of his death and felt like it was a fresh wound to her soul.

It was because of those losses that she hated being in the hospital. She anxiously awaited the moment she could slip away into eternity, leaving behind all the sorrow that plagued her.

But not till she saw him.

Finally, she heard his voice, felt his touch on her arm. A sense of peace washed over her.

“Mom, it’s me. I’m here.”

She could go home now. Finally free.

Author's note: This was written in honor of my grandmother, who passed away on September 13, 1998, shortly after my father arrived at the hospital to say goodbye. This was definitely the hardest story to keep under 300 words!