Michelle Nhung Le

Posted on: 23/8/2021

Seen at 12:04 AM

Eyes locked to the white screen, I sighed. It was a serene afternoon: no scorching sun, only breezy wind delivering tender sleepiness. The smell of paint and fresh clothes was overwhelmed by the monotonous lemon scent room cleaner mixed with the strong odor of morphine. The blink of my chatbox cursor synced with the beeps of the hospital monitor, hopelessly giving out signals into an empty space. Those small things somewhat occupied my stream of consciousness. The monitor will beep until it stops – filled with families’ cries of sorrow; the cursor will blink and no texts will be typed, or I might just keep texting, and only ‘Seen’ would stare at me from the screen. This happens all the time, often I don’t mind, but not today: the fact that we wouldn’t see each other for a long time made me all nervous.

‘Vic, phone away. She’s woken up’ – a soft voice interrupted my thoughts. My great-grandmother tossed and turned, gradually opened her eyes to the room full of people. Her pupils slowly rolled around, analyzing, inspecting, and finally landed on me. Our eyes met, my Dad stood up and whispered in her ear:

‘Vic is leaving for Canada, he’s here to say goodbye’ – as each word was uttered, I forced myself to smile. The monitor tried to break the silence with its beeps, to no avail. I bent down to her bed, my hand feeling her backhand’s crumpled skin. ‘Take care, ma. I’ll be back soon’ – I whispered. She turned to me, eyes swollen. Her voice was barely audible:

‘Where’s your father?’ – my great-grandma said with a bitter chuckle. Everyone stifled a sigh.

Great-grandma never realized. As I grew older, I greatly resembled my grandfather, and this didn’t help with the fact that her eyesight became worse. Every family meeting, I turned into this 40-year-old man in her eyes who was once her son. Understandably so, since no one is ready for a change. She wasn’t ready to see her son being in the same hospital, wired shut to his bed, awaiting the unknown day to be freed, from the bed of pain, or from this world.

As for me now, I wasn’t ready to leave, to say goodbye knowing that tomorrow isn’t sparrows; even less prepared to break it to great-grandma, despite knowing that eventually, she’d be just a part of my childhood memory.

Hugs and pats, wishes and kisses exchanged, the cold hospital room started to feel more alive. Pairs of eyes, albeit sorrowful, tried to give me encouragement. I felt slight tingle of warmth in my chest.

‘Let’s go see grandpa’ – said my father. I didn’t disagree.

I put my phone neatly in my left pocket as we made our way and reached the familiar building. Green windows brightened up in the sunlight, dived into the red solid of the walls – a small leaf in the garden of red roses. The further down the endless hallway, the more potent the smell of cleaners, yet it felt like a fresh breath of rose to me. As the door came to my sight, I slowly inhaled, then walked in.

The old man lay on the bed, his eyes dimmed. His neck, arms, and legs were wire-trapped, like a hopeless puppet lying on an empty shelf. His face twisted, nearly distorted due to the pain from wearing all the tubes. He forced himself to turn toward the door, his eyes shut tightly, bearing the pain. His hands waved around, to welcome the guests, while teardrops squeezed out. He wanted to acknowledge our presence, even though the act is painful.

I grabbed a chair and sat by his bed. Sunlight poured through the window, yet his hands were ice-cold as I grasped them. My mouth tasted bitter; I couldn’t speak. ‘This could be the last time you’ll see Grandpa’ – echoed my Dad’s word.

‘What should I say?’ – trying to hold back the tears in my voice, I asked. ‘You don’t have to say anything’ – my Dad replied – ‘Tell him you’re going to Canada. He would love to visit you there.’ – he paused – ‘He loves being with his grandchildren.’

My hands shivered holding onto his freezing palms. Our eyes met. In what people saw as soulless eyes, I saw light of happiness. His mouth couldn’t move; the tubes made speaking impossible, but his eyes shone out a smile.

‘Vic is leaving tomorrow. To Canada, Dad’ – said my father. My grandfather’s eyes snapped wide-opened. He tried to utter something, but in vain. His hands managed to break free, covering his ears, his feet flailing. Almost immediately, nurses rushed in, put the wires back until he was finally under control, and wouldn’t leave thereafter.

I sat beside his bed until late, holding his hands, trying to grasp the last bit of grandpa’s affection. Others’ presence was blurry; very much like when I was playing with my grandpa as a child. Just spending time with him kept me from turbulence. My father was right: I didn’t have to say anything at all.

‘Time to go’ – said my father. I hesitantly let go of grandpa’s hands. Reaching the door, I turned around, whispered: ‘Goodbye Grandpa’

For a brief moment, he used all of his strength. Eyes locked with mine, he slowly raised his arm, jerking it around like a wave. Something that simple was too much for him that he nearly fainted. Warmth drained from my heart, a cold drip traveled through. I saw a kid waving back at me, with a naïve look in his eyes, giving me the smile. One hand wiping away the tears, I waved at him and smiled back.

My father noticed the blink on my phone on our way to the parking lot.

‘Why don’t you check your phone? She might reply’

I didn’t respond. For a moment, I felt ready.

Distance means nothing, when someone means so much.

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