I couldn’t get comfortable because the taste in the food and smell in the wind seemed bitter. I sat on the couch, looking outside between the translucent curtains. The day was almost over and the skies were exploding with reds and violets, ready for sunset. The burning skies turned our house into a gleaming darkness. My mom walked into the house, her spirit full of electricity but full of terror.
“Your grandpa is getting sick, we’re taking him to the hospital. Help me get him into the car.” She said.
I was exhausted, but too tired to say anything about it. I was a kid, after all. When I met him next door, I could see his chalky face, his skin that sagged so much I could see bone pushing out of his leather skin. His face, which was always stern and with confidence showed nothing but pain. He was wincing in pain, as if a pick was shoved into his belly. He was still mumbling that he didn’t want to go to the hospital, but my mom was making him. We led him to his car, a silver Mercury Sable, placed him inside of it, and my mom drove us to the hospital. As my mom drove the 9 miles to the hospital, I couldn’t handle what was happening inside. He was moaning gently, mumbling. I looked outside. My head was blank, my thoughts were frozen. A resounding pulse pushed its way into my head, “Fühlen.” The pulse wouldn’t stop, it couldn’t stop.
When we arrived, the hospital said they couldn’t help him, that he needed to be transported to a major hospital an hour away, in Amarillo. It was there that the diagnosis happened, it was cancer. It had its stone-cold hands on his liver and pancreas. The prognosis wasn’t good. As a whole my family couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t start.
The following summer of 1997 was tough. Even before it started, the summer had been scheduled and blueprinted. My sister was graduating high school and then she was getting married. It was supposed to a summer of fun and celebrations. However, it started off bad with a hot, sticky season early. By May we were already in the 90s and oddly humid for New Mexico. The fact that my grandpa had to travel to Amarillo for chemotherapy made it hard for us to kick off the summer. Not only this, but taking him an hour out of town added to the disorder and confusion because he would be in chemo for hours.
When my sister’s graduation and wedding eventually hit us, the excitement in the air was thick, however even during our celebration, there was tinge of unease. We had to force my grandpa to eat. He was struggling to eat and losing a lot of weight. After the wedding, it was as if my grandpa hit the time when he was willing to stop. He wanted to see my sister get married. He was fading fast. The word started again.
“Fühlen”
It kept repeating, “Fühlen – fühlen – fühlen – fühlen…” However this time, it was getting louder, this time it was making my ears ring. The entire summer had been about the cancer, it was thick in the air. However, it was a large growth on everyone’s mind that nobody would talk about openly. Even though the elders of the family talked about it commonly. They never talked about it with us kids. Talk of death was strictly forbidden.
School started on August 18th. School started off good that year. Really good, but it was soon to change dramatically. The cancer got worse. And because of it, my grandpa could never give us rides home in emergencies. The oncoming winter season started its cold grip on the town. It was almost as if the entire town was struggling with cancer. We all thought about it.
During the winter, my grandpa was going through chemotherapy, and to get through our driveway, we had to plow the snow. We became nervous every time it snowed. Although as a family, we loved the snow as it was rare in that part of New Mexico, especially now, we never found the ability to like the snow that winter. Eventually, we figured out that Grandpa’s time was coming fast, and we couldn’t do anything about it. The word I was starting to hate was humming again, “Fühlen”. When I said it quietly under my breath, the word hit my heart like an arrow.
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