Wednesday, June 17th

"Wings won't take me"

Today we visited my aunt.

She is spending her last few months in a care center in Escondido. We arrive and sign in, heading towards her room in the sterile facility. She is sitting outside of her stay in a wheelchair. Covered in blankets on an already hot day, her body is so frail. "Hola Tia" are the first words that come out of my mouth. I glance over at my father, a man who I have never seen cry, standing in the moment with tears in his eyes. He grabs the chair and pushes her into the lobby. Sitting on the plastic covered couches the three of us are silent. What do you say to someone who is dying ?

She stares at me the entire time we are there. All I can do is smile and stare back, but not for long. I constantly drop my head, unable to hold eye contact with this fragile woman. Her blue eyes cutting right through me. My father breaks the silence and asks "Ready to go home?" to which she replies "They won't let me go". The silence makes a return, and every time I look up, there are those eyes. I'm thinking back to all of the days I spent at her mobile home off of Valley Parkway when I was growing up. It seemed like she was as well.

My father tries to make her laugh. It works but it is followed by a coughing spell I was sure she would not survive. Every cough sounds as if her lungs are shattering. Her eyes are shut tight and she is holding her mouth with one hand, and her chest with the other. It lasted maybe 15 seconds, but when you're in that much pain 15 seconds can last a year. We are all silent again, the air in the room is horribly uncomfortable and awkward. My father tells her half jokingly that she needs to come home. Her son Alex isn't taking care of the garden. That the plants are going to die soon. "So will I" she says. She has completely accepted the fact without fear. The smile fades from my fathers lips.

I was reminded of how much I am not invincible that day.


Every time my father asked if my aunt was ready to go home, I never once thought about that trailer off of Valley Parkway with the garden. I kept thinking of a place that was much, much better. Better than anyone truly knows. Somewhere where my aunt wouldn't have to live in pain everyday. A place not far from her now.






She is being called home.