Alma La Valle- Short Story

Discussion in 'Writers Forum' started by 0oScarletBegoniaso0, May 31, 2006.

  1. This story is about the time in my life of my grandmothers death, how i felt at the time...I wrote this story earlier this year, even though she's been dead for about six years now...


    “Your grandmother’s in the hospital again.” Mother sighed, her tired voice normal seeming now. “I’ll drive you to school before I head out there.” I listened to her go back downstairs while I brushed my teeth. Her words echoed in my eleven year old mind.

    I recalled last Sunday, sitting across from my grandmother at the dinner table, all of us gathered around. I remember her laughing at a joke my grandpa made; her laugh is one of my fondest memories of her. I looked at the bruising on her body from experiments and mishaps, I was too afraid to ask about her illnesses, she was a southern-grown girl. It must shame her to be so helpless I thought.

    The van was silent, as it sliced through veils of fluffy white cotton while three children sat solemn, not in the mood for ruff housing and laughing. I looked back and forth out the windows, trying to find something to take my mind off my mother’s words. First stop. I watched both my brothers gloomily walk up to the high school as I silently wished their day would somehow be brightened.

    “Love you Mom.” I said softly as I closed the van door, I watched the vehicle get swallowed up behind veils of cotton before heading inside.

    I never remember even being at school that day but I figure it was the same as any other. A mask on my face kept even my friends convinced that everything was all right. Drifting from classroom to classroom in a routine I watched my friends laugh about things I didn’t understand. I was never so lonely in my life.

    Before long I was curled up in the backseat of the school bus heading my way home. Headphones blocked out the loud conversation and the screams, I closed my eyes and rested my head back to relax. I felt a hand shake me awake when we were at my stop; I blushed and rushed off the bus and up the driveway. I had known since this morning I would be returning to an empty house. It was far better to be alone in a house other than a waiting room. Eleven year olds aren’t allowed in the intensive care unit.

    The phone was ringing as I stepped through the door. Running into the kitchen I grabbed the phone and quickly answered it. Ambient elevator music accompanied my mother’s voice; I could hear the hesitation in her words. I tried my best to listen to her words, but they refused to be heard. I didn’t want to accept that my grandmother and best friend was going to die.

    “She slipped into a coma-…Grandpa wants to pull-…No ICU wont let you see her.” Tears rimmed my eyes as I heard my mother’s words. I felt helpless.

    I could imagine my grandmother lying on a hospital bed, her room unloving and cold. The only noise echoing out into the hallway would be a combination of the air moving of her respirator and the consistent beeping of her life support system. Thoughts continued into more detail until I could see so vividly her rising and falling chest, the pale look of her old wrinkled face, and the bruises across her arms from IV after IV.

    I felt ashamed for not taking our time together seriously and now I was regretting how childish I had been for not cherishing her like I should have. I felt that if I had spent more time with her, then now things would be different. I felt that I was the reason she was dying.

    Alma La Valle Von Tersch died two days before Valentines Day on the wishes of her husband. She was cremated; no funeral service was held. No family came to visit in our time of grief. I don’t even remember my Grandpa crying over her death at all. He showed no signs of pain. I took my families example and blocked out the emptiness. I carried on like nothing was wrong. It felt like she didn’t even ever exist to my family.

    I cling to my memories of her and to this day I dream of her. Every memory I cherish and hold close to my heart. She was everything to me, and I refuse to ever forget about her.

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