When I was eleven or twelve, my great-grandmother suffered a terrible fall and she was hospitalized for a period of time. Eventually, doctors concluded that she - 'M' as we called her - now had dementia. At the age I was, I didn't fully understand what that meant besides memory loss. I was unaware of everything else it was and could be.
My mum and I went down to visit when we received the news. The plan was we'd stay in a bed-and-breakfast near to the retirement home where resided my great-grandfather, J. He would take us to see M, upon his insistence and much debating with my mother.
Grandpa J always had been a strong, healthy man despite his age (mid-nineties). Daily, he wrote crosswords and finished word-searches from the newspapers he was subscribed. Also, upon arrival at the retirement home, he considered rekindling his love for the game of bridge. In my eyes, Grandpa J was the prime example of a man who was living life to its fullest.
After a satisfying lunch of fish and chips, Grandpa J called a taxi and we were driven to the nursing home M had been recently admitted to. It was a plain bluish grey building with a roundabout driveway. The door couldn't be opened without a code. I saw this place more as a prison rather than as a private hospital.
The elevator had to be taken up to the third floor. It was diseased with the common hospital stench of ammonia and bleach. Nurses in cream, white, grey, blue bustled around, barely making a sound against the shining tiled floor. Everything was painted uniform shades of beige and periwinkles. It was perhaps the most depressing place I'd ever stepped foot in.
When I saw M, she was no longer the proper, jubilant lady she had been for the eleven-twelve years I had known her. Contrarily, my healthy vision had been replaced with that of a frail and terribly thin old person, wizened beyond years. She didn't touch the minute snack of two grapes and juice before her - today she relived a life back on the prairie. Maybe tomorrow she'd be seventy, playing bridge with the members of the Country Club.
M was long gone.
I held her hand delicately as I had been told, but I was away in another world. I only observed.
There was a moment when my eyes strayed over across M where Grandpa J was sitting, her husband of some seventy-eight years. He grasped her other free hand between his two. His lips moved as he whispered confessions of love to his sweetheart. M gazed at him with unconditional adoration - she remembered him. Grandpa J stopped looking for just a moment and as he smiled sadly, the silent tears began to fall, drops of glass, down his cheeks. He kissed M's cheek and she leaned into it.
Despite my juvenile age, I recognized something in my great-grandfather right then. He was still a proud man, alive in every way, but he was in no way invincible, or cold to emotion. It was, I decided subconsciously, an admirable weakness. I was shown that very bittersweet day that my great-grandfather was only still human. He was always, at heart, the youthful eighteen-year-old boy who had fallen for this woman.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,856 Reviews
Hola, Lavvie!
You make it easy for readers to connect to you/your grandfather/your family in a way that can speak volumes. This is generally something more difficult for people to do, I think. So really, great job in that aspect.
So if you ever happen to write anything of the sort, let me know!
This piece flows rather nicely, and as said by those above, the raw emotion really shines through. So you've hit the nail, so to speak~
One thing you also did, which I loved, was that you applied the uses of the senses~ The smell of the hospital, the nurses dressed in various colors, etc~ It can really help to breathe life into a piece.
I'd be interested to see what you could do with a purely fictional piece, tbh~
A great piece of writing, this is~
--Misti (InkDrop)
Lavvie!
This has touched my heart in such a profound and wonderful way. It's always common to find the younger generations of today looking up to the older and the wiser who have obviously lived life and can comprehend most things that we cannot even begin to fathom.
It's the very same thing with me as well. To me, adults were on a whole different league compared to young pups like me. I always looked in awe whenever my Dad or Mom would handle things the way they do, even if it was the most mundane of tasks. I could always be sure enough to say, "Yeah... you better watch out. Ma and Pa here and going to toss you if you're not careful." Well, I didn't really say stuff like that, but the pride that I felt was phenomenal. M and J's story is all about this. Their continuity and presence alone was enough for people to feel truly safe and at peace.
I would say that as an assignment of personal evaluation, it does match up to being quite robust and full of emotion. I do really like the prompt. And I'm quite glad to read that there are actually people other than myself who share the same fears and uncertainties when it comes to adults dear to us who suddenly develop these sort of 'weaknesses'
In all honesty, I still worry and panic whenever I chance upon my mother shedding a tear or two. When people are portrayed as being 'Super', we barely take into the account that there is also an equalizing Kryptonite to their power. But in the end, time tells the tale. And we all do eventually grow up into the adults we once held in deep admiration and most probably still do. I'm somehow feeling quite tempted to mention the circle of life somewhere around here but I don't think that would match. I'm going all deep and stuff already, lol ^.^
As for any critiquing, maybe the only better thing you could have done with this piece was to have arranged it and presented a little bit more neater. Adding indents and paragraphs and other knick-knacks would make this essay look quite appealing. As for subject matter, relevance and impact, you've hit golden. I'm sorry I can't give anything more constructive since I really felt this piece resonated a deep flow of thought into my cob-web infested head. This was a really sweet story and it's been well described.
Thank you for sharing your wonderful experience with us, Lavvie. It was a great read. Keep the ink flowing!
Murtuza
I agree, that was really, really beautiful. Well done!
Despite my juvenile age, I recognized something in my great-grandfather right then. He was still a proud man, alive in every way, but he was in no way invincible, or cold to emotion. It was, I decided subconsciously, an admirable weakness. I was shown that very bittersweet day that my great-grandfather was only still human. He was always, at heart, the youthful eighteen-year-old boy who had fallen for this woman.
That there, is pure genius. I adore it.
NightWriter x
That was beautiful...I mean genuinely amazing, I read dark and depressing stories all the time (Jodi Picoult and Steven King) And that blew so many of them away. Serious talent mate, I would buy your book in a heart beat mate. Keep it up!
Hello i am Steven and this personnal narrative realy touched me. The emotion is electric and obvious for everybody to see and to feel as a reader. This is definetly something i don't think i could write at the same level. I hope you continue to write as i really think you have great talent.
Keep Writing Ste