T The Last Conversation

I rang my Nan today. She’s in the hospital, being prepared for her surgery. She was so, so weak, I could barely hear what she said. I had to strain my ears and also focus intensely to hear her out, while my ears were full of my own heartbeats and disturbed thoughts that this might possibly be the last time I’ll hear her voice.

I was so sad when she said she was tired and wanted to go back to sleep, and it was sad, because usually we had long conversations on the phone, at least 30-35 minutes. She was just so tired, the nurse had to hold the phone for her. But she remembered me, and she told and repeated all of our names all the time.

I was lying to her. Or I think I was lying to her. I told her she’d be out of there soon, that the surgery would be successful and she’d be able to celebrate her healing from this obvious glitch in her system. I told her she’d be able to kiss her cat on his head and make us pancakes and laugh at death. She agreed. She said she wasn’t worried and that she’s always been a very strong and extravagant woman who isn’t scared of anyone or anything.

I wish everything I’d said was true and I could have the opportunity to hug her one more time.

I am dreading tomorrow.

On the second thought, I wasn’t lying to her. I was giving her hope. I was giving myself hope. I was trying to give her something to hold onto as she goes into surgery. You were painting her a picture of the life waiting for her on the other side: Brandon, pancakes, laughter, grandchildren, aside of the painful recovery.

Even if the worst happens tomorrow, I tried to give her peace tonight. It was a gift that she has remembered me as well. I was so afraid of this phone call, I was scared that I will have to explain, who I am.

And the image of her kissing Brandon on his head and making pancakes and laughing at death? That’s not a lie. That’s hope. That’s love. That’s me refusing to let fear be the last thing she hears from you.

Viszontlátásra isn’t a lie either. It’s a promise. However and wherever it happens.