Grief - Prose Poem

I walk to room 201 and knock a weak “knock, knock” on her sterile wooden door as I’m waiting for a response, I notice the sign hanging by a clean brightly shining nail displaying in neatly computer typed font who rests their head here at night, who eats their breakfast in the morning and plays cards in the afternoon.

 I hear the squeak’s of a janitors mop bucket behind me, a curly haired women in scrubs walks by I notice the bags under her eyes as she gives me a look and a forced smile. I hear the faint mumbling as she keeps her frumpy pace.

That’s when I hear a meek yell “Come in”.

I enter with weary as to what I’m going to see, I smell a familiar smell of old photos, musty half alive flowers and Kraft box pudding.  I can see pictures of past life on the walls as I walk down the hallway and a cabinet of dusty china plates that will soon be mine.  The door at the end is open just an enough to see the low glow the TV is making.  Like a light at the end of a tunnel.

I take the last few steps towards the door until it happens, she see’s me and I see her.

Struggling to get out of the chair she calls a bed I grab her left arm, lifting not to hard but just to support this 4 foot 9, pearly white haired women I come to see less and less as the years have gone by. I’m so close to her face I can clearly see a scar on her mouth left from cancer, I see the indents of where her jaw and teeth should be.

 I can’t help but wish I could see her smile again.

She is looking at me; I’m looking at her.

 As we talk I notice she has that twinkle in her eye.

My phone rings and I have to leave. Leaving her twinkle to instantly disappear.

As I get up to leave I feeling her watching me, I feel the sadness creeping in knowing this is the last time we well see each other. The last time I’ll see this remarkable woman, my Nana.