All I could hear was an occasional cough or splutter coming from the bed. Everyone else was silent. My Dad was standing there, like a wounded soldier, standing proud and strong, but I could tell that he was crumbling inside, his face was all screwed up, and his eyes were, ever so slightly, watering up. I glanced over at the aged, dusty clock hanging on the far right hand corner. It modestly ticked away, although it felt like time was dragging past. Every second felt like a minute, and every minute felt like an hour. The smell of the newly made bed, and the crisp white sheets wafted into my nose. My brother started to shift uneasily, his eyes, darting around the room, not knowing where to look. I watched as my little sister slipped her small hand into my Mum’s. My Mum looked down at her, smiled reassuringly, and squeezed back.
Fiona, my Mum, broke the deathly silence by stating, in an upbeat tone, how a customer had just brought a piece of furniture from my Grandma’s antique shop, which she lived above. My Grandma strained a smile, although it seemed like her face would shatter into a thousand pieces, and whispered, “Good, good.”
My Grandma was not an archetype of an “old woman”. She had so much enthusiasm, and energy. Her days would be full of work, and play. She was so vivacious. She would be up by six in the morning, buying furniture from the market. She would be in the shop all day. Her evenings were full of friends and family. She was so loved. Right up until the day she started getting those symptoms, at the age of seventy-nine, she had run this little shop, all by herself. I remember being very young and darting in and out of the odd little pieces of furniture, and weird ornaments. I would stare at myself in the cut crystal, and laugh at how funny I looked. Now, I never wanted to see any of it ever again.
We all thought that she would last forever. It never crossed our minds how quickly her life could slip through our fingers. She was so strong and full of life.
It soon got dark, and we were all downstairs, leaving my Grandma to rest, Angela, my aunt who lived with her, was making herbal tea. It was a sweet, comforting smell, and as the piping hot liquid gurgled down my throat, it thawed my frozen through body. My older brother was making sharp whistling noises as he blew into his chipped mug to try and cool down the boiling tea. I slowly put down my cup, and backed out of the room. I didn’t know what I was doing; I just needed to see her alone. I crept up the old rickety stairs, and peered into her bedroom
I lingered for a moment, and then went to her. I touched her pale, white cheek. It was so soft. I leant forward and whispered into her ear, “I love you.” She seemed to take ages to react. Then she slowly open eyes as though she had just woken up from a deep sleep. A smile crept over her face, and she murmured back that she loved me too. I couldn’t cope anymore, my whole body was aching from trying to keep in the tears. I span round, to make sure that she wouldn’t see my shameful tears, rolling down my face. My whole family had been so strong and supportive of each other, and I couldn’t even do that. At that precise moment, I realised that I was actually going to lose her forever, and it had shocked me so much that I couldn’t even control myself.
Two days later I woke to the news that my Grandma had died that night at eleven. Dad and my Aunt had been by her side. My Mum and I stood in the kitchen clutching each other for comfort. “Do you want to see her?” She asked. I didn’t know how to reply. I so badly wanted to be with her, but was scared of what I would see.
We threw some clothes on and bundled into the car. My Mum kept going on about what to expect, I’m not sure whether it made me feel any better. We walked into her room, half anticipating her welcoming smile. She looked so strange, so white and still. She had gone.
