Monday, February 16, 2004
The Same Day
We stand on either side of her, my mom and me. With washcloths and gentle strokes, we smooth down the loose, dry skin of my Grandmother Mimi's arms. I am careful of the dark bloom of an IV bruise on her wrist. Her nails are manicured, her eyes are sunken. A lifelong, self-proclaimed queen, she would have enjoyed this attention if she were more aware of our presence. She would have told us we weren't doing it quite right. The rich scent of orange peels and hyacinth flowers hang in the heated air of the hospice room. They keep it warm here, in this house of the dying. Quilts soften the walls and cover the frail, sleeping bodies. Sweet nurses wander through the rooms, disturbing no one, unless they are needed. A large, gentle dog thumps his tail on the carpeted floor. Behind the green curtain in Mimi's room, we are three generations connected by touch. I rub cream on Mimi's face. Mom dabs Vaseline on Mimi's lips. It is a moment of silence that pulls at the chest. And then her eyes open, and the demands begin again. An apple, crackers, more water, fresh water! That tastes terrible! Where's my juice? Find me some juice! Cranberry! We glance at each other, my mom and I, a shrug in my eyes. The drugs and the cancer have softened Mimi's brain but not her tongue. She is still the spoiled queen. The moment has passed.
Later.
They kneel on either side of me, the alteration lady and my mom. They pull at the sticky ruffles of my petticoat and smooth down the wrinkles of my wedding dress. I watch our three reflections in the floor length mirror. The stuffed garment bags hang above our heads, like bloated, white teardrops. The two women stand back, as I twirl in satin and lace. I adjust the straps and hold up my hair in a mock bun. I feel transformed. Until I see poking down beneath the hem, my ragged jeans and holey socks. Proof of what my sister wrote in my wedding shower book, "Congratulations Megan! Now you're all grown up! kind of..." Almost a princess. Still a bit of an awkward fifteen year old. The moment has passed.
