The Process

I went home last night to my Abuela's house and slept in a bed she calls mine. I couldn't convince her to come with me. She has hardly slept at all. I did get her to eat a little bit of soup, but I am concerned about her health. If she doesn't take care of herself, then she won't be able to take care of my Abuelo. When I came back to the hosptial room at 6 this morning she was still sitting there in her rocker holding his hand. My Abuelo does not look good today. He is no longer conscious. I am trying so hard not to see what I have been taught to look for. His vital signs and his skin tones, his breathing and his involuntary movements. At first I tried not to feel anything, it can be very devastating to become attached to every stranger you meet who is dying. Then I realized that he is my family, it is okay for me to feel and to grieve for him. This is what families do. He is a fighter, but his is a quiet and reserved strength. I'm not sure what he is waiting for, but death can not be rushed, it is a process like everything else in life. As a nurse I know that it will not be much longer. As a granddaughter I wish for more time. I wish I had been able to really know him for who he is and who he once was.

Once again the hospital is as quiet as in all reality, it should be. There is music playing outside on the street. A group of guitaristas. No words, just music. A woman came to speak to my Abuela and I about funeral arrangements. I had to speak with her because my Abuela would not. This is a new concept to me. The funeral that is planned out is different than what we do in the states. I told her I wanted it to be respectful and suitable to honor his life. Other than that I don't know what to say or do.

I sat next to my Abuela for a while this morning. She kept holding his hand, not speaking, hardly breathing. I wanted to comfort her in some way but no words seemed right. I held out my hand to reach for hers, and she took it. The three of us sat in complete silence holding each other's hands, and we were consoled. I cried for the first time as did my Abuela, but she is still a rock. She didn't get hysterical, she just let her tears fall. Everything is and has been very peacful. I pray that it stays that way. The guerrillas groups have no right to ruin these moments for us, for me and my family.