The cold of the ER clashes with the bright lighting.
Tiny waiting room crowded with loving family.
Only two visitors allowed back at one time.
Taking my turn with cousin Ron, I lay my hand on her arm
and mutter a silent prayer.
Her skin feels cold from the saline IV, face appears swollen,
the respirator tube protrudes from her mouth and the IV stand
beeps its low battery warning.
"She hates being cold." I proclaim to the nurse.
We cover her with warm blankets,
but she is unaware.
Back in the waiting room, sullen faces stare blankly.
Loudspeaker blares "Ernestine Marcus, please come to the front lobby"
"How'd they find me?" Paula hurries to the door.
We all laugh. "I'm coming Gertrude!" More laughter.
My brother's wife is a bright spot in any dark tunnel.
Then quiet, as our thoughts resume inward.
I try to remember why I was angry. Suddenly, it no longer matters.
"But she lied to me." I protest, to the anger that refuses
to present itself now.
Gazing curiously upon the faces lining the walls around me,
I wonder, do they ever feel like I do?
Do they ever think they are the only one?
Finally, it becomes clear to me, what I've been trying
to figure out for all these years.
This life is short, and its tribulations small,
in comparison to the life to come.
Did I not know that? I thought I did.
Enter small foreign doctor - funny looking genius - interrupting
my thoughts.
"We're going to try a laproscomy..." he begins, to the staring
nodding faces, blank with shock and fear.
For now, we'll allow ourselves the luxury of believing
perhaps modern medicine can save her.
"...but we need to stop the bleeding if there's to be any hope",
he finishes. Still staring, still nodding, our gazes follow him
until he's gone, his last word echoing in our minds.
"Hope." We hope, but fear the worst. We pray.
Just a few more hours then its all over.
And we realize, before we even got there, she was gone.
And sadly missed.
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