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I
try
to
meditate
on
the
sound
of
Gran
’
s
voice
,
to
be
carried
away
by
her
happy
babble
.
Sometimes
I
can
almost
fall
asleep
while
sitting
on
the
bar
stool
at
her
kitchen
counter
and
listening
to
her
,
and
I
wonder
if
I
could
do
that
here
today
.
Sleep
would
be
so
welcome
.
A
warm
blanket
of
black
to
erase
everything
else
.
Sleep
without
dreams
.
I
’
ve
heard
people
talk
about
the
sleep
of
the
dead
.
Is
that
what
death
would
feel
like
?
The
nicest
,
warmest
,
heaviest
never
-
ending
nap
?
If
that
’
s
what
it
’
s
like
,
I
wouldn
’
t
mind
.
If
that
’
s
what
dying
is
like
,
I
wouldn
’
t
mind
that
at
all
.
I
jerk
myself
up
,
a
panic
destroying
whatever
calm
listening
to
Gran
had
offered
.
I
am
still
not
entirely
clear
on
the
particulars
here
,
but
I
do
know
that
once
I
fully
commit
to
going
,
I
’
ll
go
.
But
I
’
m
not
ready
.
Not
yet
.
I
don
’
t
know
why
,
but
I
’
m
not
.
And
I
’
m
a
little
scared
that
if
I
accidentally
think
,
I
wouldn
’
t
mind
an
endless
nap
,
it
will
happen
and
be
irreversible
,
like
the
way
my
grandparents
used
to
warn
me
that
if
I
made
a
funny
face
as
the
clock
struck
noon
,
it
would
remain
like
that
forever
.
I
wonder
if
every
dying
person
gets
to
decide
whether
they
stay
or
go
.
It
seems
unlikely
.
After
all
,
this
hospital
is
full
of
people
having
poisonous
chemicals
pumped
into
their
veins
or
submitting
to
horrible
operations
all
so
they
can
stay
,
but
some
of
them
will
die
anyway
.
Did
Mom
and
Dad
decide
?
It
hardly
seems
like
there
would
have
been
time
for
them
to
make
such
a
momentous
decision
,
and
I
can
’
t
imagine
them
choosing
to
leave
me
behind
.
And
what
about
Teddy
?
Did
he
want
to
go
with
Mom
and
Dad
?
Did
he
know
that
I
was
still
here
?
Even
if
he
did
,
I
wouldn
’
t
blame
him
for
choosing
to
go
without
me
.
He
’
s
little
.
He
was
probably
scared
.
I
suddenly
picture
him
alone
and
frightened
,
and
for
the
first
time
in
my
life
,
I
hope
that
Gran
is
right
about
the
angels
.
I
pray
they
were
all
too
busy
comforting
Teddy
to
worry
about
me
.
Why
can
’
t
someone
else
decide
this
for
me
?
Why
can
’
t
I
get
a
death
proxy
?
Or
do
what
baseball
teams
do
when
it
’
s
late
in
the
game
and
they
need
a
solid
batter
to
bring
the
guys
on
base
home
?
Can
’
t
I
have
a
pinch
hitter
to
take
me
home
?
Gran
is
gone
.
Willow
is
gone
.
The
ICU
is
tranquil
.
I
close
my
eyes
.
When
I
open
them
again
,
Gramps
is
there
.
He
’
s
crying
.
He
’
s
not
making
any
noise
,
but
tears
are
cascading
down
his
cheeks
,
wetting
his
entire
face
.
I
’
ve
never
seen
anyone
cry
like
this
.
Quiet
but
gushing
,
a
faucet
behind
his
eyes
mysteriously
turned
on
.
The
tears
fall
onto
my
blanket
,
onto
my
freshly
combed
hair
.
Plink
.
Plink
.
Plink
.
Gramps
doesn
’
t
wipe
his
face
or
blow
his
nose
.
He
just
lets
the
tears
fall
where
they
may
.
And
when
the
well
of
grief
is
momentarily
dry
,
he
steps
forward
and
kisses
me
on
the
forehead
.
He
looks
like
he
’
s
about
to
leave
,
but
then
he
doubles
back
to
my
bedside
,
bends
so
his
face
is
level
with
my
ear
,
and
whispers
into
it
.
"
It
’
s
okay
,
"
he
tells
me
.
"
If
you
want
to
go
.
Everyone
wants
you
to
stay
.
I
want
you
to
stay
more
than
I
’
ve
ever
wanted
anything
in
my
life
.
"
His
voice
cracks
with
emotion
.
