GOODBYE

I am fourteen years old, and this was an assignment for my Englishclass. We were told to write about a time when we had to say goodbye.This is my recollection.

Goodbye. It is not actually spoken but it is haphazardly the onlything on my mind. The cold plain waiting room of the hospital was verydiscomforting, but the door leading into the room is comforting to me.It is the only barrier between me and the unavoidable impression ofimpending death.

The chair underneath me seems like the only objectthat can hold me up while my shoulders droop to the ground and my headrests on my chest. I am offered comfort, but how can I be helped when Iam unsure of the problem? Red faces, ruined tissues, and wet eyes onstrangers' faces are the normality now. I am no longer frightened tosee my father cry, or my grandfather.

My 7-year old fingers are likethat of an irate pianist, forcefully banging my fingers on everythingwithin reach, to a certain tempo only steady in my own racing mind. Ifeel like a tiny mouse, lost in her own maze of confusion and chaos. Myfootsteps are tiny, like a skeptical kitten, and fear is visibly writtenacross my pale face. Grownups in white coats concealing their fatiguedphysiques coax me into the room, but I am too afraid to go alone.

For a minute my feet are a part of the hospital's foundation, unable toprogress. My mother, with her heart on her sleeve, comes out and usesher benevolence and familiar face, although dramatically changed by thelack of sleep and tears, to convince me that all would be right.

My mother grabs my hand and for once it feels stable in her shaking grip.As my mother reaches for the door, I puff out my chest like a bravelion, only I have no courage inside at all. The door swings open, andthe stale air from the room rushes over me like a tidal wave.

The first aspect I noticed about the room was how bright it was although theprocess of death was being completed inside. The white walls were bareand the television was on. The 5-o'clock news perfectly depicted thetragedy inside the room. On the wooden table next to the bed was ahalf-full glass of water. The majority of the room would have said halfempty by the outlook they felt towards the future outcome of theillness.

My grandfather was standing next to the bed. He used to be abear, showing no emotions, but I found him now to always have red eyes.The wrinkles I had always found to be calming on his face were nowdeepened into his skin until he was almost unrecognizable. There wereno voices to drone out the soft muffle of the television, except for thesmall frail voice of my ill grandmother. She was beckoning for me tocome forward, and I noticed how her skin drooped from her bones on herforearm. Surprisingly, her voice was somewhat of a consolation to me.

I grabbed her outstretched finger and I felt like it would break if Iforced any pressure on it. I quickly drew my arm back, only to becomeashamed. I walked towards this smiling living skeleton, but I couldn'tlook in her eyes.

The first time she smiled at me was the first time since she had been sick that I had noticed the toll cancer had taken on her body. The rich brown color of her eyes was not sparkling anymore and was now dull. Her shining chestnutcolored hair that I had grown so accustomed to was only a small tuft of gloomygrayish-brown fluff. The pain was so evident in her eyes that I had to wince also.

As she pulled me closer using all of the strength she had left in her body, shewhispered in my ear with her raspy voice, "I love you." And, at thatmoment, all of my courage returned to me, and I leaned in and kissed hertaut cheek. Then, I summoned up everything I had left in me andwhispered in her ear," I am going to miss you. I love you."

And withthat, my final words were spoken to her. And it was palpable what wewere doing at that moment, saying our final goodbyes.