Story

A Withered Flower

The last time that I saw her, she couldn’t speak. They put a mask over her mouth to help her breathe better. Her eyes were swollen and tears were dripping from the corner of her eyes. I patted her hair, and told her "You will be fine." Maybe I was saying that to myself. I was assuring myself more than to her, that everything will be okay.
We are not allowed to stay in the ICU and so we had to leave her.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. I was scared. What if they called in the middle of the night to tell us that she was gone?
A week ago, when I was kept in the recovery room after laparoscopy, I felt like that day would never come to an end. My body ached. I was bored, confused, depressed and I just wanted to be with Maa.
Last night, I cried myself to sleep because I know what it feels like. To be amidst nurses and doctors, in a safe place, yet alone and unsafe. How must she be feeling right now? What kind of thoughts must be crossing her mind? What must it feel like, to wait for death?
Somehow, I could almost feel her pain, as if I were her. Most of the time, I keep imagining myself in her place, to share her pain, her thoughts. She is not alone, my Aaita. She lives in me, my father, my brother.
My Aaita is now, a withered flower. Her frail body has witnessed so many events. She saw my brother growing up to become a man. She witnessed my success in exams. She played with her great-grandchild. She seems to be weak and thin, but my Aaita is a strong person.
I remember one day, when I was about ten years old, me and my Aaita were flipping through the pages of an old album. We came across a photo of her and my Koka. She reflected over her younger self, sharing a few anecdotes on her marriage to Koka, telling me stories about her youth. She had a weak smile on her face when she looked at photos. She let herself get lost into the nostalgic realm to relive those days. Suddenly, her smile faded and she realized that those were the days when hope didn’t seem to be a burden and dreams made sense.
Last night, at about 2:00 am, we received a call from the hospital. They called my father to sign for the consent to put her under ventilation. When he returned, he lay down next to me and cried. I let him. My father has been going through a lot for the past few weeks and all I could do to help him, was to give him a shoulder to cry on.
Again, at 4:10, the doctor called us and told us that she attained consciousness and that she is improving.
I heaved a sigh of relief. Everything will be okay.