singing her away.
I’m participating in a 31-day blogging challenge called reverb10, responding to writing prompts that are designed to elicit reflections on 2010, and hopes for 2011. You can find out more about it here. I am challenging myself to respond to each prompt in 15 minutes or less.
Today’s challenge: Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.
Singing her away.
The nurses had provided a rollaway bed for me, covered in linens with sheet music printed on them, black, red, and white. I had stayed awake for days, too nervous at night to sleep because I wanted to be with her. On Sunday morning, though, I had to sleep, my head too heavy for my neck suddenly. I had to assume the blessed horizontal, even if only for a moment, and so I did, once my husband, John, came in.
I slept hard, so hard that for hours I didn’t move at all, my head toward the window that overlooked a flower garden. All the weight of the last few days was upon me, it seemed. There were no dreams. John told me later that many groups of people had come and gone without my noticing or even stirring, in spite of their talking around Nina’s bed in the small room, their coming and going, their crying.
When I did wake, it was to singing. A flute was being played. From hymns to Broadway tunes. Glady, a 90-year-old from across the hall, was singing harmony. People came and went, joining in the singing, and in the praying. Stories of Nina served as intermissions to the singing. The whole day passed that way.
I was aware of what community is and does. We stood, holding hands at one point, singing and singing and singing. Nina was still, still, still, her chest barely rising.
The cafeteria staff brought a tray of sweet iced tea and toast.
Someone read a poem, then a psalm, and then we paused.
I opened my laptop to play Eva Cassidy singing “Fields of Gold.”
It was an impromptu and important party, and an hour after it ended, and everyone else left, she died with her thin cold hand in mine.
