Shiftkitty
Registered User
In these hard times, you get your entertainment where you can. Our local museum is a free source of entertainment. There are rotating exhibits, those that change from month to month, and then there are the exhibits that are always there. One of the regular exhibits triggered a scene for me. It was a bedroom done up in mid-1800s farmhouse style, and as I watched it my mind unfolded a small episode:
I was very young and was being led into the room by my mother or my older sister (who may have just looked like an adult to me). There is an old woman in the bed. She has one of those white lace night caps on her head. She's my grandmother. I'm told to be quiet because she's dying. I'm calm as I stand next to her. Her eyes are so blue and so calm. She speaks softly. She wants to see me one last time before she goes. Her frail hands caress my cheek and I know I will miss her dearly when she goes. She tells me not to be sad because she'll be in Heaven waiting for me and we can eat cakes again there. (I'm not sure what kind of cakes she means, but I get the idea that they're small pastries similar to cupcakes but not quite.) I ask her if she's afraid and she says no. The drapes are closed and the room is somewhat dark. Only small bits of sunlight provide any illumination. She asks me to open the drapes because she wants to see the sunlight one more time "from Earth". I dash over to open the drapes, eager to do whatever she asks. As the sunlight pours in I hear her voice, very faint, thanking me. When I turn, she is facing me and the sunlight, but her face, though still peaceful-looking, is different. Instinctively I know it was her last request.
I snapped out of it at that point. I have no clue what I looked like or anything. All of my attention was on the dying lady, my grandmother in that scene. It was quite a trip, though, from the museum to wherever I was in that memory.
I was very young and was being led into the room by my mother or my older sister (who may have just looked like an adult to me). There is an old woman in the bed. She has one of those white lace night caps on her head. She's my grandmother. I'm told to be quiet because she's dying. I'm calm as I stand next to her. Her eyes are so blue and so calm. She speaks softly. She wants to see me one last time before she goes. Her frail hands caress my cheek and I know I will miss her dearly when she goes. She tells me not to be sad because she'll be in Heaven waiting for me and we can eat cakes again there. (I'm not sure what kind of cakes she means, but I get the idea that they're small pastries similar to cupcakes but not quite.) I ask her if she's afraid and she says no. The drapes are closed and the room is somewhat dark. Only small bits of sunlight provide any illumination. She asks me to open the drapes because she wants to see the sunlight one more time "from Earth". I dash over to open the drapes, eager to do whatever she asks. As the sunlight pours in I hear her voice, very faint, thanking me. When I turn, she is facing me and the sunlight, but her face, though still peaceful-looking, is different. Instinctively I know it was her last request.
I snapped out of it at that point. I have no clue what I looked like or anything. All of my attention was on the dying lady, my grandmother in that scene. It was quite a trip, though, from the museum to wherever I was in that memory.