GOODBYE, GREAT GRANDMA Beyond a heavy wooden door I see her, lying motionless, except for the occasional bat of a lazy eyelid. Machines around her "beep" and "click" and "hum." I wonder if these sounds make rest hard for her?      That's not to mention the bustle on the other side of the door. The able-bodied of this place rushing to here and to there. Some pushing carts stacked with what looks like microwave dinners, while others push IV's alongside feeble patients, scraping their slippered feet over the cold tile floor. The stench of despair permeates the air; my great grandma's new world of sterile white and static procedure.      Her room is full of familiar faces, although I can't place where I recognize most of them from. I ignore these surreal entities and approach her bed.      White sheets, white walls and white tile. Purple and blue splashes of color on her hospital gown are all that is left of the rainbow in her world.      From deep pockets of flesh, her blue eyes look up at me, reminding me of marbles. She stares intensely into my youth and cracks a labored smile.      It's been too long.      "Too long." She would say, if only she could will it. "You wrote me when you were but a child. Once a month to set my calendar by. But then you flew‹my songbird‹into the winds. The lashing, often bitter winds and left me here. I prayed for you and only now do you come. It's been too long."      A shudder that's been building inside of me escapes, though barely audible, as these thoughts stampede through my mind. I realize that I haven't seen this woman in years. I hadn't realized how far-gone I'd really become. I feel a terrible regret fall into my heart. Words of the past would never fall from her ancient lip but I will rot in the knowledge of my thoughtlessness secretly inside, forever.      Her trembling, fragile hand grasps mind suddenly and startles me.      Would it have harmed her more to know me all those years?      Time (and my childhood)- have passed so swiftly. The hands of the old grandfather clock in her forgotten hallway have been so hasty. She possesses this knowledge more surely than I. Standing beside this relic of a separate time and place, I can find no words to place.      A woman in white rushes in and out. She knows nothing of this life in the bed before her. Yet she cares for it diligently; whether if by orders, or by morals; day by day [to set a calendar by]. Perhaps it is a better thing she does than I have ever done or could now hope to do.      Shame tries to stop the build-up of salty water in my eyes as I gaze down upon her delicate frame. She is so thin. If I were to put my arms around her, I wonder if I would feel anything at all. Her blue eyes still focus on me- as if we are alone in this room; communicating silently. I no longer try to stop the saline from cascading down my ruddy cheeks.      Her tired hand squeezes mine one final time and I smile sadly through the rain. I bend and place a single kiss upon her wrinkled forehead.      Always know I love you and I always have. But it's been so long, and it's too late.
Jessica Erwin
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