“I should think they’d be a bit preoccupied to answer, don’t you?” she said.
Lately, he talked like this but it didn’t seem to bother her. She’d always understood him. For his fifteenth birthday she’d given him a leather-bound journal with For your thoughts written on the inside cover in her scratched handwriting. It made him feel as if his thoughts were important. He’d begun using it to journal and draw pictures—expressing himself, his teacher had said—after the first visit to the doctor.
“Nobody has any easy answers,” she eventually offered. “And we probably shouldn’t believe them if they did. Pastor Phillips says death is not to be feared but embraced.”
“D’you believe that?”
She pursed her lips and shrugged. “I think it’s more complicated. Maybe death can inspire people to do beautiful things, love each other a little harder, strive to leave something good behind.”
The second hand swept around the clock face, readying itself to stand upright and announce the passing of another minute.
“Does trying to be brave help?” he said.
She smiled sadly and shook her head. “If only I were as brave as you, dear.”
Gabriel pulled the blanket up higher; hospital rooms were always cold. Her gaze dropped to his elbow crease, the part of him she’d spent her visit avoiding, and contemplated the cannula biting into his vein, a doorway into his body that over the next few days would admit fluids to rehydrate him when he couldn’t drink, to paralyze his muscles and to anesthetize him, to prevent infection, and to dehydrate him when the tumor swelled his brain.
“When is your operation?” Eunice asked.
She knew. Would have asked his mom.
“Tomorrow,” he replied. Tears moistened her rheumy eyes, but she did her best to hide them. Just then, the scent from the lilies by his bed reached out and gave him courage.
“I hope you’re right.”
“About what, dear?”
“Meeting Jack again. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“I hope so.” She smiled through her tears. “I’ll tell him to keep an eye out for his grandson.” It was his turn for tears then. He did want to meet his grandfather. Just not any time soon.
Mark Braidwood is a medical doctor and writes part-time. His short story ‘The Auction’ was selected for the Aurora-winning Polar Borealis ‘Stellar Evolutions, Best of Fifteen’ anthology. His short story ‘Reach’ is due to be published in April’s edition of After Dinner Conversations and again in the August Anthology. His short story ‘Coincidence’ was a finalist in the Writers of the Future competition and his first novel was shortlisted in the Fantastica science fiction prize. He has also contributed to a book about climate change and health. Originally from Australia, he currently lives in Toronto, Canada.
Loved it!
Mark braidwood is my uncle. I love this short story. The small details that add to create a better image of what hospitals are like. Especially the description of, “how the polyester curtains tried to keep the sunlight out”.
I adored that as readers we could see the depths of ones conversation between a grandmother and her grandson . How their conversation jumped from one topic to the next. Starting with Gabriel the young grandson, asking Eunice his grandmother, what she thought about death. Then finishing with how dearly she missed Jack, her late husband who had died in the war. This then lead to whether or not the pair believed in God. Gabriel started an amazing offer of if God exists, then why did he create a war in which his grandfather died fighting. Overall I really enjoyed Mark Braidwood’s short story.