Page 59 of Mariposa
“Ms. Isla, if you’d like to wait until she calms down, I can speak to you outside and fill you in. I haven’t seen you here in almost a year. Has anyone told you about the state of her condition?”
“I’ve been in training! I’m not going anywhere right now. Just tell me what to do to help!” My stomach churns as I dart my gaze from my grandma to the nurse who is trying to keep her sitting in the bed while she finishes her medicine. She continues to call out Graham’s name erratically. She’s seconds away from becoming violent.
“I don’t think you want to have this conversation in front of her,” he says, as he struggles to calm her.
“Just tell me! What’s going on with her?”
“Your grandmother’s condition has worsened drastically. She only has months before we transfer her to hospice or to pass away at home with her loved ones.”
Broken sweat beads underneath my clothing as the news overtakes my emotions like I’ve been hit by a train.
She can’t leave me. Not right now. Please, God, no.
I can’t lose her. She’s a literal piece of my soul.
“No,” I sputter, my lips and jaw threatening to lock up.
I deny this.
“Sometimes she hallucinates and starts asking for her mother, and sometimes your grandpa. But most of the time, it’s a man named Graham. Who is Graham? Is he an uncle or a cousin?”
“He’s…” I shake my head. “She told me he was her first love. She wanted me to read her these letters because they always put her in a good mood.”
He nods understandingly.
“Mrs. Isla, lie down. Rest.” The nurse cups her hair gently.
“No dejame en paz.Quiero bailar conGraham.Dejame bailar con el, por favor.Dime que está aquí!” No, leave me alone. I want to dance with Graham. Let me dance with him, please. Tell me that he’s here!
Her face reddens, agony written in all of her creased, aged features. My heart cracks and aches as I try to console and remind her of reality.
“Grandma, please, it’s okay.” My voice cracks.
She’s going to die soon,and she’s not begging to see her husband. She’s begging to see a man she fell for as a teenager.
She tries to scratch off the IV that’s hooked inside her veins. Her nails dig into her skin, leaving a trail of red marks.
“Where am I? What’s this? Why am I here?!” she shouts, sobbing, looking around the room in circles—every corner is scoured while she fights the nurse. He stumbles a couple of times as she pushes him off her when he’s only trying to keep her from hurting herself.
Think, Violet, think!
I swallow with determination.
“Graham’s on his way,abuelita. I promise you. Trust me.”
This catches her attention. She stops moving, with hope flashing through her. Her muscles relax, and she stops trying to get out of bed. She lets the nurse lift her socked feet until her back touches the pillow as she keeps her gaze locked on me.
“He’s coming, Grandma. Watch that door, okay? He’ll walk in any second.”
She slowly lifts her shaking chin toward the closed door, her brows knitting.
“I’ve been waiting for him…for so long.” A tear rolls down her cheek before she zeroes in on the door. “Do I look pretty? Do I look okay?”
A sinking hole burrows into my stomach.
Her breathing slows, and the nurse gives me a comforting tilt with his head to keep going. The heart monitor’s riotous beeping slows down to a normal pace.
“Yes, please lie down. He’s on his way.” My heart gallops with uncertainty. I feel like a liar, and a disgusting feeling swirls in my chest with the way it makes my grandma so happy.
