Writing this cheered me up a bit. It was a 15 minute prompt, I teared up a little, but doing so was cathartic.
I yawned and saw the living room light still on. The door is ajar, just like I left it before I went to bed. I quietly make my way downstairs, I’m not in a hurry because I don’t want to confront the worst. What if she passed away? What would I do? I don’t know if I could ever get that image out of my head, if I had to discover her dead.
“Grammy, are you okay?” I make my way to the bottom of the stairs and call out.
“Yes,” she replies in an inaudible voice, she is just lying on the couch, her breathing laboured. It looks like she hasn’t slept at all tonight.
I go over to her, administer some morphine, and I lay down next to her. Grammy takes me into her arms and we hold each other tightly. I’m losing my best friend.
Instead of her playing with my hair, I begin to play with her hair and instead of her telling me stories, I tell her stories about the upcoming semester. My hopes of graduating from college next December, hiding the tears because she will never see me graduate from college.
My eyes become heavy and as the tears subside, I drift off. I awake to the sun, Grammy has declined. Mom and dad are standing over us.
“Why don’t you go out for the day?”
I leave the door ajar, put on my coat, hat, and mittens. The snow is falling on a bleak January day. As I walk the city streets, I am in a daze. By the time I make it out of the blizzard, barely alive myself, Grammy went with the blizzard and a ghost remained in the sunshine.
Everyone in the workshop loved this short piece. They thought it was hauntingly beautiful and reminded them of a story called The Snow Angel.
The Happiness Box Project 
Hi, Jessica Marie!
This is indeed a hauntingly beautiful piece, dear friend, and I assume it is a true and autobiographical story. It is fitting that the roles are reversed in the final stage of an elderly person’s life. For decades they were the caregivers. Now it time for the younger people they helped to provide care and comfort, attend to the grooming and hygiene of their elderly parent or grandparent, and read them stories. Sadly many young people do lots of taking along the way but don’t give back when it is their turn to do so.
Thanks for sharing this story you wrote for the Gotham Writers Workshop. I can understand why so many others loved reading it. Have a great week, dear friend JM!
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