ouch!

okay, so it hurt a bit. i'm sitting in the antiseptic corridors watching scrub clad people of all shapes and sizes, some with the little blue tissue paper shoe covers, some with the face masks draped around their neck. some with comforting puppy dog designs, all walk by. i tried to imagine them my poet/doctor friend, so they would intimdate me less. i kept looking at the people walking by wondering who would call my name, which one would be the one i'd go off to a room and undress for. weird thought, that.

some gangly fellows walked by, some creepy men, some unsavory women (at least none i wanted to undress before). and i would say, no. no. no. sometimes one would pass and i'd say, maybe. there were very few, precious few yeses. what can i say, i might be a closet prude.

then she appeared, slight of frame, mousy blonde. no bigger than a whisper. no fanfare, dressed all in white.

suzanne.

she said to me, after getting my attention, lost in thought i was. looking at all the radiologists going by, the people being wheeled to god knows where. it's by no means a busy hospital, but there are things one doesn't see every day. and the mind wanders. how the mind wanders.

yes, i even cried a few more tears. this after my ny best friend laughed at me.

you cried,

she said.

it's because you have young boobs.

really? nothing to worry about?

my boobs don't seem young. and i'm quite fond of them.

really. they should have explained this to you. it's why they don't do mammograms on young women, the tissue is too dense. in old ladies, it's like a waterbag.

saggy?

yes!

ah.

i don't want to talk about your boobs, tell me about your poetry reading.

and we talked a bit, but i wound back around after appeasing her with a few tidbits. i told her how half the crowd left after i read,

they were probably there to hear you.

she said.

really?

yes, this was advertised?

yes.

i told you,

she said.

okay, i'll believe you. that makes me happy.

the thought that someone would turn out to hear me read. strangers even. then i realized, there weren't many readers at the open mic, so they clearly were not there for their own agenda. they could, conceivably, have been there to hear me.

and i am glad to be alive.

truth be told, i cried because i thought of who i could call and talk to who could walk me through this darkness, who wouldn't think me odd, or foolish. and, of course, it was my grams. we never have enough time with those we love. never, never, never.

and i missed her again, as i missed her when i lost her.

i remember that hospital, i had flown in from dallas, and slept in the waiting room with her eldest daughter. she shot up at 4am and said,

i have to go to her.

she practically ran out of the room, and i grabbed all our stuff and followed.

she tried to hook me up with some jw literature, but i refused. instead watched my grams in icu hooked up to all kinds of machines laboring for each breath. her entire body swollen. emphysema drowning her.

when i had arrived the day before, her daughter regaled me with tales of how strong my grams was, how she was arguing with the nurses (i come by it honestly), and threatening to leave. but i knew it was her time. i don't know how i knew, but i knew. my only thought when i bought my ticket was, wait for me, please.

and she did.

i arrived in her room at 9am. she had already lost the will to eat. the fight gone. her eyes slacken, the nurse asked me to try to feed her medicine. i did, but grams would have none of it. so i didn't force her. i just opened my songbook and sang to her. i sang to her and talked to her until the rest of the family gathered, some time later in the day. i can't remember how long i had with her, but it was hours. i kept thanking her, telling her i loved her. calling my california cousins and letting them speak to grams via cell (which is an icu no-no, but we do what we must).

and then, at 4:56, the buzzers started buzzing and we rushed to her side.

i let her go. i whispered in her ear how much i loved her and told her it was okay to stop fighting.

and then she left me forever.

for two years i couldn't even keep from breaking down in tears. to write of it now only stirs what i cannot describe. such loss.

i understand everything we love dies. everyone we love must leave. i understand this. it does not make it easier.

it makes me live recklessly. i want to be completely used up when i die. to have lived, to have loved, to have done what i am supposed to do.

go home, enjoy the day. stop worrying. the results will be back by tomorrow,

the radiologist said.

and i got dressed and left.

still missing my grams.