First Draft August 28, 2012
Carina Soriano
September 15, 2012
A Last Moment
As I walk up the familiar, short driveway, I stop to appreciate the late August sunshine casting a heated glow upon all that surrounds me. The air is heavy with the promise of rain soon to come and the smell of the snowball flowers in full blooming glory, their purple and blue hues overbright in the afternoon sun. I make it halfway up the cement driveway and turn impatiently, the ends of my short black hair swishing around to hit me in the eyes. I jump in place, as I watch my parents get out of the car and stretch, the four hour drive starting to take its toll on them. My siblings climb sleepily out of the car as I grip the straps of my small pooh bear backpack and rock on my heels with excitement. However, my five-year-old self is intolerant with their sluggishness and I turn again, this time shading my eyes as the sun hits the many windows of the small, one story ranch house we have come to visit.
Once upon a time, there would have been an elderly face in the screen door, waiting on her family to arrive with a joyful smile and cookies for her grandchildren. But that wrinkled visage resides no longer in that door, instead confined to a room inside. But to a small child who only barely understood the realities of old age and sickness, she is still family, still loved and still a younger woman.
I trail my hand across rough brownstone that makes up the exterior of the ranch that holds many a good memory. The white metal awnings on the tops of the windows provide little relief from the heat as I step onto the walkway from the driveway. I close my eyes, minding the uneven surface of the walkway to the house and imagine the family waiting within. There is my generous and talkative oldest aunt, short and full of wisdom. My tall, silent but kindly uncle, always attentive to my ailing grandmother and always glad to see family. My middle aunt, who lives in the area, and has come to visit, bringing her two daughters with her as well. And last but not least, my youngest aunt, a pretty, young artist.
I feel my foot hit a jagged crack in the cement and I open my eyes before I can hit the ground. My hand extends back to the muted brownstone, cool in the shadow of the tree in the front yard, a name I could not pronounce nor remember, catching myself before I can trip and ruin my poohbear shirt and shorts I adore. Grandma had always enjoyed that set as well, saying that I looked very cute in it, which made it a double plus for me; my favorite outfit and Grandma’s favorite as well.
In the span of time between my almost-fall and my opening my eyes, my uncle has appeared in the doorway. He opens the screen door wide, invitingly, but I still miss when my grandmother used to stand in the door instead. I pick up speed, and hurry to hug his leg when I bounce up the small stoop in front of the house.
My parents call greetings as they carry suitcases up the driveway and my siblings trail behind them out of the car, my sister still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and my brother already sweating in the hot August afternoon. I turn away again and step inside the cool dark home. The cool blues and greens of my grandmother’s living room greet me, along with the deep dark wood stains on the bookshelves and end tables. I can feel the cool air conditioning blowing across my skin, raising goose bumps on my arms and legs. A smell wafts through the house; it seems my aunt has anticipated our arrival with cookies and the hidden aroma of tonight’s dinner penetrates the now-lively house. There was an undercurrent of dust though, as though disuse was common for the small place, even with more than one person home.
As my siblings and parents make it to the door, I plant my backpack and sandals on the carpet in the living room and curl my toes into the plush rug for a moment in appreciation of the cool relief it offers. My oldest aunt appears in the doorway to the kitchen and dining room, which looks through to the living room as well. I run to greet her, trailing my hands along the large beach mural printed on one of the dining room walls. The mural was one of my favorite things about the house. It covered an entire wall and made me feel very relaxed, as if I was really sitting on that palm-shaded, sunny, sandy beach. I always enjoyed family dinners in Grandma’s dining room for that very reason. In addition, there was a small, darkly-stained cabinet which contained very pretty glasses and other trinkets a young me wasn’t allowed to touch. I loved to look at them all though and someday hoped to own such beautiful things myself.
Aunt Fran has on an apron, a common sight, and smells of a stew being made for dinner. I hug her tightly as she exclaims how big I’ve gotten and how nice it is to see me again. I giggle the same greetings back to her and hear momma in the background hugging her brother and echoing similar sentiments about seeing him again as well. Daddy, Catherine and Chris wait patiently behind me for their turns at the reunion with smiles on their faces. As soon as my aunt has let me go and we’ve finished with pleasantries, I wander into the kitchen, my bare feet cold from the brown-patterned linoleum lining the small room.
Navigating around the small breakfast table, I see my other aunt standing at the sink, just washing up after helping with dinner, having been forewarned about the extra family coming. My Aunt Jean and cousins Nikki and Tricia look up from the connected den when they hear my footsteps.
“Aunt Nina!” I squeal and give her a big hug when she turns around too. She laughs, a pleasant melodic sound that is dampened slightly by the small space. She too wears an apron, though takes it off as the rest of my family gradually filters into the small space, and hugs and warm wishes are exchanged as we wash hands and settle down. I, spying the small heap of warm gooey cookies on the table, indulge in several as I take a seat. My sister scolds me and tells me not to ruin my dinner so I pout and only eat a few. Everyone else remains standing and talk flows around me as, my belly full, I slowly start to nod off.
But I am returned to full consciousness when everyone begins moving out of the room and my sleepy mind realizes we are to visit Grandma’s bedroom. The back hallway is cool and dark, and smells of that flower Grandma likes so much, lily-of-the-valley. I inhale deeply, the smell reassuring and follow Catherine into the pale pink, semi-lit room which has its own smell of old age and flowers; just what a grandmother smells of.
I still remember how she looked, to this day, a hospital bed in the middle, facing away from the small, high window, and inclined slightly so she could sit up and receive her family, a small bedside table next to it and a small marble table across from her and in front of the mirrored doors of her closet, with a basket of fake scented flowers on it. I always used to love that basket and would brush the flowers on my face to feel the soft petals tickle my skin and inhale the musky flower smell. I also liked the small marble table, which now sits in my own room.
I waited a bit as Momma gave her mother a long hug, and Daddy greeted his mother-in-law quietly. I watched the reflections of my siblings saying hello and then, finally, I too was called over. I was lifted and placed next to Grandma and hugged her broadly, a bit shocked to find her very thin and weak. I believe my alarm must have shown on my face, for she tried to reassure my anxious pleas about her health and distracted me by asking how I’d been and what I’d been doing. I started on a long tale of my latest doings but was interrupted by my sister once more to tell me not to take up all of Grandma’s time.
I reluctantly slid down off the bed after one more hug and an ‘I love you’ from Grandma and returned to examining the pretty flower basket and table and wishing I had ones such as those. After the topic turned to more serious adult things that I did not understand nor really care about, I slipped out, making the trek to the small hall bathroom through the plush blue carpet. The tall, small, dark bathroom enclosed me in its encasing coldness and I hurried through the motions. Once I stepped out, I wandered not back to my grandmother’s room, but instead to the living room, where I knew there was a small, fiber optic fan light that I could play with. I absolutely loved that decoration and could sit for quite some time, endlessly amused by the changing colors. I was always curious how they could change color again and again and Daddy had once tried to explain it to me in simple terms but I’d never really understood. I watched the fan until I grew sleepy, brushing the fibers across my hand gently and then turning it off and laying down on the deep blue couch to nap.
A while later, everyone started to filter into the hall again and I woke up. The sunlight had faded into shadow outside the big window in the ‘front’ or living room while I had been asleep. The murmur rose a bit as everyone stepped out into the living room to pass through to the dining room and then to the kitchen for dinner. Grandma was with them this time, in a wheelchair with a warm afghan over her legs, though it was the middle of summer outside. My mother pushed her into the dining room, where dinner started to make its way to. I got up to join in the activity, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I yawned widely and my grandmother admired my shirt, laughing a bit at my sleepy face. I blinked and giggled back, happy that she was happy. We waited together as my siblings and cousins brought in utensils and plates and I helped them set up the table properly. I was rewarded with a smile from Grandma for my help and I grinned back, glad to be able to help.
Once the stew was on the table and everyone gathered around, we all prayed together and dug in, though I noticed Grandma did not eat very much, which was not good. She also had a lot of medication to take, though at the time I did not understand exactly how much it was.
After a dinner filled with lively, warm chatter and our bellies full, we leaned back around the medium sized dark wood dining table as my youngest aunt brought out a birthday cake. I’d almost forgotten it was Grandma’s birthday on the 13th. The lights went out, Momma started clicking the disposable camera like mad and the air was filled with the smell of warm birthday cake as Grandma’s children and grandchildren sung to her. I and my cousins however, wanted to help her blow out the candles, so we stood close enough to feel the heat from the candles on my face and asked her if we could blow them out with her. She, of course, agreed and gathered us around her and after she made a wish, we blew them out together. The smell of smoke filled the air as the dim dining room light came on and Momma and Aunt Jean took pictures, the flash creating a hazy atmosphere. Daddy opened a window, which caused a cool draft to waft in and carry the smoke out as cake was cut.
After deliciousness was devoured and I begged for a second piece, everyone migrated into the living room for Grandma to open her presents. I took the presents from everyone and gave them to Grandma, who thanked me and each one of them after she opened the gifts. Usually my cousins and I would fight over who got to give them to her, since we were only three and four years apart. That day though, Nikki and Tricia were not interested in fighting so I was able to be the present girl, which made me feel very special. While I don’t remember what was in each package, I remember she treated each gift as if it was very precious to her, even the smallest things. There were lots of hugs to go around after, though by that time I was sleepy and not very coherent. I do remember Nikki coming over to me on one of the low, plush blue couches and us chatting for just a bit, though we ended up getting into a fight but I do not remember why.
The rest of the evening passed in a soft, muted, blur as the adults chatted and eventually beds were made up in the den connected to the kitchen. Before we all retired though, we bid farewell to my Aunt Jean and cousins Nikki and Tricia, though my family would go and see them at their house before our visit to Virginia Beach was over. Though I sometimes fought, I did enjoy getting to see them, as that was not a regular occurrence. Our family trips to see my mom’s side of the family were not as frequent as those to my dad’s so we tried to make them longer so as to see everyone. A half-asleep me waved goodbye to them, knowing I’d see them again within a few days.
I remember being told to get ready for bed and I was pouty for a while as I wished to stay up longer with Grandma, though she was tiring as well. I did not understand what the fine lines meant, becoming strained as the evening wore on, did not know that fragility came with illness, too young to realize, to focus long enough on others not myself. Age has a way of making one realize more, and I understand that the more I grow older. After finally arranging myself on one of the blow-up beds we’d brought with us, between my siblings and my parents, I thought over the day. Grandma had seemed in higher spirits than the last time I’d seen her, though it was too long ago for me to really make a good comparison. I was glad to see her though regardless because it had been too long since the last time and our visit would be far shorter than I’d have liked. I crept back down into the den after using the bathroom after everyone else and paused for a moment to look at the beautiful triptych of brown and blue trees that hung on the far wall of the den. It matched the décor of the rest of the room and I’d always liked it, though after my grandmother died, I had no idea what happened to it. My sister rolled over as I sneaked onto my half of our queen-sized mattress and I slipped beneath the cool, crisp covers. Musty lily-of-the-valley filled my senses as I closed my eyes, breathed in the smell of the sheets and the world went dark as my father turned out the light. All the world was dark and restful.
I did not know that the next time I would see my grandmother after that visit would be the day before my sixth birthday, when she was on her deathbed.
May she rest in peace.
September 15, 2012
A Last Moment
As I walk up the familiar, short driveway, I stop to appreciate the late August sunshine casting a heated glow upon all that surrounds me. The air is heavy with the promise of rain soon to come and the smell of the snowball flowers in full blooming glory, their purple and blue hues overbright in the afternoon sun. I make it halfway up the cement driveway and turn impatiently, the ends of my short black hair swishing around to hit me in the eyes. I jump in place, as I watch my parents get out of the car and stretch, the four hour drive starting to take its toll on them. My siblings climb sleepily out of the car as I grip the straps of my small pooh bear backpack and rock on my heels with excitement. However, my five-year-old self is intolerant with their sluggishness and I turn again, this time shading my eyes as the sun hits the many windows of the small, one story ranch house we have come to visit.
Once upon a time, there would have been an elderly face in the screen door, waiting on her family to arrive with a joyful smile and cookies for her grandchildren. But that wrinkled visage resides no longer in that door, instead confined to a room inside. But to a small child who only barely understood the realities of old age and sickness, she is still family, still loved and still a younger woman.
I trail my hand across rough brownstone that makes up the exterior of the ranch that holds many a good memory. The white metal awnings on the tops of the windows provide little relief from the heat as I step onto the walkway from the driveway. I close my eyes, minding the uneven surface of the walkway to the house and imagine the family waiting within. There is my generous and talkative oldest aunt, short and full of wisdom. My tall, silent but kindly uncle, always attentive to my ailing grandmother and always glad to see family. My middle aunt, who lives in the area, and has come to visit, bringing her two daughters with her as well. And last but not least, my youngest aunt, a pretty, young artist.
I feel my foot hit a jagged crack in the cement and I open my eyes before I can hit the ground. My hand extends back to the muted brownstone, cool in the shadow of the tree in the front yard, a name I could not pronounce nor remember, catching myself before I can trip and ruin my poohbear shirt and shorts I adore. Grandma had always enjoyed that set as well, saying that I looked very cute in it, which made it a double plus for me; my favorite outfit and Grandma’s favorite as well.
In the span of time between my almost-fall and my opening my eyes, my uncle has appeared in the doorway. He opens the screen door wide, invitingly, but I still miss when my grandmother used to stand in the door instead. I pick up speed, and hurry to hug his leg when I bounce up the small stoop in front of the house.
My parents call greetings as they carry suitcases up the driveway and my siblings trail behind them out of the car, my sister still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and my brother already sweating in the hot August afternoon. I turn away again and step inside the cool dark home. The cool blues and greens of my grandmother’s living room greet me, along with the deep dark wood stains on the bookshelves and end tables. I can feel the cool air conditioning blowing across my skin, raising goose bumps on my arms and legs. A smell wafts through the house; it seems my aunt has anticipated our arrival with cookies and the hidden aroma of tonight’s dinner penetrates the now-lively house. There was an undercurrent of dust though, as though disuse was common for the small place, even with more than one person home.
As my siblings and parents make it to the door, I plant my backpack and sandals on the carpet in the living room and curl my toes into the plush rug for a moment in appreciation of the cool relief it offers. My oldest aunt appears in the doorway to the kitchen and dining room, which looks through to the living room as well. I run to greet her, trailing my hands along the large beach mural printed on one of the dining room walls. The mural was one of my favorite things about the house. It covered an entire wall and made me feel very relaxed, as if I was really sitting on that palm-shaded, sunny, sandy beach. I always enjoyed family dinners in Grandma’s dining room for that very reason. In addition, there was a small, darkly-stained cabinet which contained very pretty glasses and other trinkets a young me wasn’t allowed to touch. I loved to look at them all though and someday hoped to own such beautiful things myself.
Aunt Fran has on an apron, a common sight, and smells of a stew being made for dinner. I hug her tightly as she exclaims how big I’ve gotten and how nice it is to see me again. I giggle the same greetings back to her and hear momma in the background hugging her brother and echoing similar sentiments about seeing him again as well. Daddy, Catherine and Chris wait patiently behind me for their turns at the reunion with smiles on their faces. As soon as my aunt has let me go and we’ve finished with pleasantries, I wander into the kitchen, my bare feet cold from the brown-patterned linoleum lining the small room.
Navigating around the small breakfast table, I see my other aunt standing at the sink, just washing up after helping with dinner, having been forewarned about the extra family coming. My Aunt Jean and cousins Nikki and Tricia look up from the connected den when they hear my footsteps.
“Aunt Nina!” I squeal and give her a big hug when she turns around too. She laughs, a pleasant melodic sound that is dampened slightly by the small space. She too wears an apron, though takes it off as the rest of my family gradually filters into the small space, and hugs and warm wishes are exchanged as we wash hands and settle down. I, spying the small heap of warm gooey cookies on the table, indulge in several as I take a seat. My sister scolds me and tells me not to ruin my dinner so I pout and only eat a few. Everyone else remains standing and talk flows around me as, my belly full, I slowly start to nod off.
But I am returned to full consciousness when everyone begins moving out of the room and my sleepy mind realizes we are to visit Grandma’s bedroom. The back hallway is cool and dark, and smells of that flower Grandma likes so much, lily-of-the-valley. I inhale deeply, the smell reassuring and follow Catherine into the pale pink, semi-lit room which has its own smell of old age and flowers; just what a grandmother smells of.
I still remember how she looked, to this day, a hospital bed in the middle, facing away from the small, high window, and inclined slightly so she could sit up and receive her family, a small bedside table next to it and a small marble table across from her and in front of the mirrored doors of her closet, with a basket of fake scented flowers on it. I always used to love that basket and would brush the flowers on my face to feel the soft petals tickle my skin and inhale the musky flower smell. I also liked the small marble table, which now sits in my own room.
I waited a bit as Momma gave her mother a long hug, and Daddy greeted his mother-in-law quietly. I watched the reflections of my siblings saying hello and then, finally, I too was called over. I was lifted and placed next to Grandma and hugged her broadly, a bit shocked to find her very thin and weak. I believe my alarm must have shown on my face, for she tried to reassure my anxious pleas about her health and distracted me by asking how I’d been and what I’d been doing. I started on a long tale of my latest doings but was interrupted by my sister once more to tell me not to take up all of Grandma’s time.
I reluctantly slid down off the bed after one more hug and an ‘I love you’ from Grandma and returned to examining the pretty flower basket and table and wishing I had ones such as those. After the topic turned to more serious adult things that I did not understand nor really care about, I slipped out, making the trek to the small hall bathroom through the plush blue carpet. The tall, small, dark bathroom enclosed me in its encasing coldness and I hurried through the motions. Once I stepped out, I wandered not back to my grandmother’s room, but instead to the living room, where I knew there was a small, fiber optic fan light that I could play with. I absolutely loved that decoration and could sit for quite some time, endlessly amused by the changing colors. I was always curious how they could change color again and again and Daddy had once tried to explain it to me in simple terms but I’d never really understood. I watched the fan until I grew sleepy, brushing the fibers across my hand gently and then turning it off and laying down on the deep blue couch to nap.
A while later, everyone started to filter into the hall again and I woke up. The sunlight had faded into shadow outside the big window in the ‘front’ or living room while I had been asleep. The murmur rose a bit as everyone stepped out into the living room to pass through to the dining room and then to the kitchen for dinner. Grandma was with them this time, in a wheelchair with a warm afghan over her legs, though it was the middle of summer outside. My mother pushed her into the dining room, where dinner started to make its way to. I got up to join in the activity, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I yawned widely and my grandmother admired my shirt, laughing a bit at my sleepy face. I blinked and giggled back, happy that she was happy. We waited together as my siblings and cousins brought in utensils and plates and I helped them set up the table properly. I was rewarded with a smile from Grandma for my help and I grinned back, glad to be able to help.
Once the stew was on the table and everyone gathered around, we all prayed together and dug in, though I noticed Grandma did not eat very much, which was not good. She also had a lot of medication to take, though at the time I did not understand exactly how much it was.
After a dinner filled with lively, warm chatter and our bellies full, we leaned back around the medium sized dark wood dining table as my youngest aunt brought out a birthday cake. I’d almost forgotten it was Grandma’s birthday on the 13th. The lights went out, Momma started clicking the disposable camera like mad and the air was filled with the smell of warm birthday cake as Grandma’s children and grandchildren sung to her. I and my cousins however, wanted to help her blow out the candles, so we stood close enough to feel the heat from the candles on my face and asked her if we could blow them out with her. She, of course, agreed and gathered us around her and after she made a wish, we blew them out together. The smell of smoke filled the air as the dim dining room light came on and Momma and Aunt Jean took pictures, the flash creating a hazy atmosphere. Daddy opened a window, which caused a cool draft to waft in and carry the smoke out as cake was cut.
After deliciousness was devoured and I begged for a second piece, everyone migrated into the living room for Grandma to open her presents. I took the presents from everyone and gave them to Grandma, who thanked me and each one of them after she opened the gifts. Usually my cousins and I would fight over who got to give them to her, since we were only three and four years apart. That day though, Nikki and Tricia were not interested in fighting so I was able to be the present girl, which made me feel very special. While I don’t remember what was in each package, I remember she treated each gift as if it was very precious to her, even the smallest things. There were lots of hugs to go around after, though by that time I was sleepy and not very coherent. I do remember Nikki coming over to me on one of the low, plush blue couches and us chatting for just a bit, though we ended up getting into a fight but I do not remember why.
The rest of the evening passed in a soft, muted, blur as the adults chatted and eventually beds were made up in the den connected to the kitchen. Before we all retired though, we bid farewell to my Aunt Jean and cousins Nikki and Tricia, though my family would go and see them at their house before our visit to Virginia Beach was over. Though I sometimes fought, I did enjoy getting to see them, as that was not a regular occurrence. Our family trips to see my mom’s side of the family were not as frequent as those to my dad’s so we tried to make them longer so as to see everyone. A half-asleep me waved goodbye to them, knowing I’d see them again within a few days.
I remember being told to get ready for bed and I was pouty for a while as I wished to stay up longer with Grandma, though she was tiring as well. I did not understand what the fine lines meant, becoming strained as the evening wore on, did not know that fragility came with illness, too young to realize, to focus long enough on others not myself. Age has a way of making one realize more, and I understand that the more I grow older. After finally arranging myself on one of the blow-up beds we’d brought with us, between my siblings and my parents, I thought over the day. Grandma had seemed in higher spirits than the last time I’d seen her, though it was too long ago for me to really make a good comparison. I was glad to see her though regardless because it had been too long since the last time and our visit would be far shorter than I’d have liked. I crept back down into the den after using the bathroom after everyone else and paused for a moment to look at the beautiful triptych of brown and blue trees that hung on the far wall of the den. It matched the décor of the rest of the room and I’d always liked it, though after my grandmother died, I had no idea what happened to it. My sister rolled over as I sneaked onto my half of our queen-sized mattress and I slipped beneath the cool, crisp covers. Musty lily-of-the-valley filled my senses as I closed my eyes, breathed in the smell of the sheets and the world went dark as my father turned out the light. All the world was dark and restful.
I did not know that the next time I would see my grandmother after that visit would be the day before my sixth birthday, when she was on her deathbed.
May she rest in peace.