M is for a Million Miles Away

Last Tuesday I woke up and the leaves on the maple were yellow. Autumn arrived and is making her presence known. Up and down the street the trees are shedding their leaves. It’s chilly at night; I saw my breath clouding when I put the bins out yesterday.

Work’s been busy. We’ve had a few people off sick – with the change in the weather comes the colds – so I’ve been under the pump doing relief work. It’s stressful but it’s good money…and a good distraction. I’m going to visit my parents in two weeks. They’ve been so supportive since they visited; Mum’s still calling every couple of days just to check in. Usually this would piss me off (as you well know!) but I’ve come to look forward to talking to her. Anyway, it will be good to go home and see Katie and Philip too. There’s nothing quite like friends from school to boost the spirits.

Next Thursday it will be five months since you left. I keep thinking how strangely time passes; some days it feels like only yesterday that you were sitting here beside me. Other days, it feels like years have gone by and I find myself forgetting little details about you, like the freckle below your left ear and how you used to take ages to drink your tea. I want to remember those details. I want to remember the little things.

You’re a million miles away from here tonight, but I still feel that thread connecting us. It hasn’t faded yet. It’s still shining, bridging the gap between my heart and yours.

L is for Let go

The hospice was all disinfectant and muted light. My mother and my shoes barely made a sound on the carpeted floors as we walked toward the day room. The residents were all parked around the room in varying states of awareness. A few family members and friends sat with them, reading to them or holding their hand. The TV played at a low hum in one corner. It was midday but it was twilight in this place.

‘Hello, Mrs Peters. And Michaela,’ said the nurse at reception. ‘Carol is in her room. She’s just having a sleep; she probably won’t wake up for a while.’

My mother nodded. ‘Thank you. We just want to see her.’

We walked across the day room and down another corridor. Generic floral and landscape paintings hung on the cream-coloured walls. The stale smell of roasted vegetables was stronger here. I caught glimpses of elderly people in bed, their mouths gaping open as if sucking in air, as if they were leaking life. I’d been visiting this hospice for weeks but the sight and smell of death so close still gave me chills.

Room 9 was Nanna’s. We’d fought to get her a room with some kind of view because she had loved her garden. Dark red roses were her favourite, with their deep rich fragrance.

We quietly entered her room and put our bags down. My mother moved to Nanna’s side and gently smoothed her wispy hair back from her face. She kissed Nanna’s forehead and sat in the chair beside the bed. I brought over the other chair and sat next to my mother.

When I pressed my hand on Nanna’s veiny one, I was shocked at the coolness of her skin. She had lost a lot of condition in only five days. The thing that had grown in her belly had spread all through her like a poisonous vine. She was as fragile as a late autumn leaf. I looked at her face, at her eyes that had sunk back in her face, and her mouth that was shrunken. That mouth that had asked me about school, those eyes that had twinkled behind her huge spectacles as I unwrapped a present.

‘She’s gone downhill pretty quickly,’ I whispered to my mother.

‘She’s leaving us, I think.’ She reached out to take the hand that I’d touched. I saw a tear drop from my mother’s cheek and onto her knee. ‘Rest now, Mum. You don’t need to fight it anymore. You just sleep.’

We sat there for a time, waiting for Nanna to let go.

K is for Kin

Over the last week I suddenly got very busy with work and various appointments – and realised that I hadn’t posted anything for several days! Oops! There goes my A to Z for April Challenge. Oh well, I will still get to Z, but just not in one month. 

This story came to me from nowhere. I’ve always found cemeteries to be quite moving places. In some parts of the world it’s a tradition to visit the graves of your ancestors during the year, to pay respects and remember them in life. 

Lina woke to the sun slanting through her curtains. Usually the day started in the dark. She panicked for a moment – she’d miss the train to school – and then remembered: it was the Day of Souls. It was a public holiday and meant a trip out to the middle of nowhere to the cemetery that held grandma and grandpa’s graves.

After getting dressed Lina helped her mother pack a picnic lunch and prepare water and a brush for cleaning the graves.

‘We’d better get going or we’ll be late,’ said Lina’s father, picking up the picnic basket.

They made it to the train station in ten minutes. Families were milling about along the platform. A train pulled in and a flood of people poured out. Lina’s father anxiously checked the train timetable. ‘Hope they haven’t been held up,’ he said.

‘If they have they would’ve let us know,’ said Lina’s mother.

‘They’ll be here,’ said Lina, watching a young couple hurry by, hand in hand. She was watching them disappear down the stairway when she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

‘Lee-lee! What’s got your attention?’ Lina’s sister Karen, embracing her. She held a basket with two bunches of white lilies. ‘Could it be a handsome young man by any chance?’

‘I’m not the one with the boy fixation,’ Lina laughed.

Lina’s brother was standing behind. Josh grinned and gave her a one-armed hug. ‘Good to see you again, little sis.’

‘Come on, you three, here’s the train now,’ said Lina’s father. They all followed him into a carriage and found a cluster of seats.

Between the standing commuters Lina caught glimpses of the tightly packed city buildings. It was a blur of concrete grey and bright advertisements. She half-listened to her parents asking her siblings questions about work, university, apartments. As the city gave way to green, the train became less crowded. Lina saw fields and farms as the train flew across the land.

Their stop was the second to last on this line. The station was old and open to the elements. Three other families got off at the same stop and they all made their way down the lane that led to the cemetery. It was a lushly green part of the world; dark green hills towered in the distance and a river rushed nearby. Karen’s laugh seemed to reach further out here.

‘Ross Bay Cemetery Fall Colors,’ 30 November 2013, Image courtesy of Wikimedia.

The cemetery was old but well-tended. Rows of graves spread out into a roughly rectangular area. Most of the autumn leaves from the maples and beech trees had been swept away. Some graves were ancient and crumbling and pitted, the names engraved almost indecipherable. Others were newer and had not yet settled into the earth.

Lina’s siblings became quiet as they walked down the centre path and turned down the one that led to their family’s burial area. Grandma and grandpa’s graves were identical except for the names and epitaphs. Grandma Suzie, Grandpa Jack. Died within four years of each other and came back home to rest together.

Lina’s mother knelt before the graves and removed the heavy vases that still held remnants of old flowers. Lina and Josh took the vases and emptied them out at the edge of the cemetery. Lina’s mother brought out the brush and water bottle from her bag and carefully swept away leaves, dirt and twigs from the graves. She stepped away as Lina’s father poured water over. It caught the sunlight as it ran over and down the sides of the headstones. Karen crouched down and put the flowers in each vase and set them on the headstone.

Lina saw her parents bow their heads and lowered hers. She listened to the wood doves cooing and the distant drone of a car and remembered her grandparents. They had always been old to her; her grandpa had been a quiet, stern man who took them to the bakery for jam and cream buns. Her grandma had been warm and was always in the garden with her roses. Lina remembered Josh receiving a sharp telling off for kicking a ball into the garden and snapping off rose branches. She remembered hot sweet cups of tea and buttery biscuits in front of the television, and her grandpa’s rare cheeky smile.

Patchy sunlight fell onto Lina’s face as she stood before her grandparents and their parents, who were grown into the earth. Around her was her family. Kin.