The Garden

The tubes were gone.
From his nose, mouth and arm. The catheter was still there but that was to be expected.
He was eating on his own again.
Well, at least without the help of some plastic tubing. Even if his diet did consist of only water, soup and porridge.
As I walked into the room, nudging the door with the tips of my fingers, then holding it open for my mom, I found Aunt Betty patting him down with a towel. She was stimulating his muscles. "Physio-therapy" they called it.
With each light pat came from him what I can best describe as a cross between a moan and a loud gravelly sigh.
Pat..."Aaaah."
Pat..."Aaaah."
Pat..."Aaaah."
Each time was like a needle in the arm and the feeling you get when the nurse misses the vein and has to try and find it again, again and again.
Unsettling as it was, I forced myself to watch, my eyes traveling from his haggard, unshaven face with the sunken eyes to his swollen, bed sored feet.
"So this is what he has become." I announced to myself.
"A wraith of the man, of the pillar that had been a presence in my life since the day I was born."
It was hard to believe and I guess that is partly why I stayed away for so long. Because I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe that he would be okay, that everything would be just fine and I was afraid that seeing him like that, shrunken and dilapidated as he was, would crush all my hopes of conjuring up the miracle in my mind that I knew he deserved.
But no matter, I was there now and not only because I had to, but because I wanted to. Because deep down I knew that this was the end for him and I felt I needed to say goodbye.
Coming back to myself, back to the room, I found my mom standing at my grandfather's bedside. She had a hand on his shoulder and was talking to him, her voice raised, her words pronounced clearly so that he could hear her.
He answered her lucidly, telling her how uncomfortable he was. He was tired of lying flat on his back. He wanted to sit up.
"With no support." he had insisted.
They tried propping him up with a couple of pillows but he still complained that he was feeling uncomfortable.
My uncle Charles walking into the room, greeted us then went on to ask us what was going on. He was my grandfather's eldest son and in the eventuality of his death would take over as head of family. He therefore automatically took charge of the situation.
Suggesting a wheelchair, he sent one of the orderlies to go and get one. He then went ahead to order us to hold my grandfather up right until the wheel chair arrived.
When it did arrive, it took four of us, my uncle included to maneuver him into the wheel chair.
After positioning him as best as she could, covering his legs with first a leso and then a blanket, propping his back with a pillow, my mom asked my grandfather how that was.
"Better," he kept repeating,
"Much better."
"Good." She breathed. Then turning to me,
"It's a beautiful day out, why don’t you take him for a little walk? I'm sure he would enjoy it."
I turned to look at my uncle Charles, as if asking permission.
"I think it's a great idea." He allowed, nodding his head and pulling at his beard.
"I'll go with you. Come on, let's go."
With my uncle Charles at the helm and I beside him, we wheeled my grandfather out of the room, down the hall and into the sunlight.

The garden was beautiful.
Flush with reds and blues and yellows; fragrant from an expanse of well kept and much loved flower beds.
It was around midday and the sun was high in the sky and although it was neither too hot nor too bright my uncle and I thought it wise to station my grandfather as well as ourselves beneath the shade of a large tree that hard obviously seen the better part of a century.
Breathing in the fresh air I watched my grandfather. Wondering what kind of affect the change of environment was having on him.
"Ask him." My uncle blurted out suddenly as if reading my mind.
Walking over to him, I stared down at my grandfather so that my face filled his vision.
"How are you doing Grandpa?"
"Lloyd..." He said in recognition, trying to point up at me. His voice was akin to throwing gravel into a running garbage disposal; his breathing labored.
"Yes, it's Lloyd, Grandpa." I tried again, "How are you doing?"
"Nice...very nice- out here."
The effort of talking obviously tired him.
My Grandfather had always been an eloquent talker and it pained me to see him reduced to such few words
"Yes, it is nice," Uncle Charles offered,
"Very nice."
Several members of the staff came over and said hello, asking us how my grandfather was doing.
"He's much better, thank you." Uncle Charles would answer almost automatically to anyone who asked. After engaging in a few minutes of polite small talk, the members of staff wished us well, wished "Mzze" a quick recovery and went about their way.
"I want to go home." my grandfather announced abruptly. His voice was clear, some of the gravel like quality momentarily lost. It sounded so full of despair that I literally felt a shiver run down my spine. I'm still convinced up to this day that he was talking to neither me nor my uncle but to someone neither of us could see- he was ready to go.
My uncle making light of it, however, threw a smile in my direction. I however, couldn’t return it.
"You’re going to go home very soon Mzze."
He said.
"Any day now. You must be tired of this place."
"Yes...yes- very tired." My grandfather agreed emphatically.
Uncle Charles chuckled.
"Yes, very tired."
The same orderly who had brought us the wheel chair now came walking towards us across the grounds, cup in hand, a small plastic spoon protruding from it.
"Yes," my uncle said as the orderly approached.
"Very good. He must be thirsty. Give him something to drink."
Uncle Charles pointed at my grandfather as he said this.
Nodding, the orderly squatted at my grandfather's side. He then went ahead to spoon some water into my grandfather’s mouth.
Each spoon produced the same sound as each pat of the towel had done earlier.
Slurp..."Aaaah."
Slurp..."Aaaah."
Slurp..."Aaaah."
When my grandfather refused to drink anymore the orderly stood up and suggested that maybe we take Mzze back inside.
Uncle Charles seeing no reason to refute medical advice even if it was really nothing more than common sense readily agreed.
We wheeled him back inside.
The anti-septic smell and white plaster cleanliness of the hospital seeming even more oppressive after the brightness, splendor and flourish of the garden.
We took him back to his room and with the help of a couple of nurses placed him between the sheets of his freshly made bed. The room had been cleaned and wiped down while we had been outside.
He was asleep within seconds. I could tell the outing had been good for him however, as short as it had been. The lines in his face seemed a little less defined, his body a little more relaxed, his breathing a little less labored. It brought a small smile to my lips. even if a sad one.
One of the nurses, telling me that my grandfather needed his rest, tried to usher me out of the room. Everyone else was in the adjoining ward the hospital had let the family use as a visitor's room.
Telling her to give me a moment, I went and stood at my grandfather's side. The nurse hovered somewhere behind me, making sure I didn’t disturb her patient but I really didn’t mind.
Placing a hand gingerly on my grandfather's arm I said a silent prayer. Then telling him I would see him soon, I walked out of the room; my head bowed, sneakers squeaking quietly against the linoleum, hands in my pocket.





That was the last time I saw my grandfather alive; he passed away the very next day.
I miss him and so does everyone who's life he touched.