"Oh dear," Aunt Sara said. "Maybe I should
change into something fresh, and maybe May should
put on--"
"None of that matters, Ma," Cary said with
authority. "We're only there to be at Dad's bedside and
give him comfort."
She nodded. Cary had already taken the reins.
He was at the helm and in control of our actions and
direction. We got into the car and he drove us to the
hospital, no one saying much until we arrived. The cardiac-care unit permitted only immediate
family visits, for five minutes every hour on the hour.
Cary decided May should wait in the lounge with me
while he and Aunt Sara went in to see how Uncle
Jacob was doing.
Grandma Olivia and Grandpa Samuel had gone
home for the night and left orders for the doctor to call
them if there were any dramatic changes. I kept May
amused and answered her questions about the
hospital, people we saw working, and as much as I
knew about heart attacks. One of Papa George's
friends had died of a heart attack two years before and
I recalled some of the details about blocked arteries,
destroyed muscle, water in his lungs.
I didn't tell May any gruesome details, but her
eyes were dark with worry and fear when I explained
how the heart worked. She was closed up so tightly in
her silent world, and now all this tightened the doors and windows, bringing her more darkness. A touch, a smile, constant signing and embraces helped bring back some light to her face, but in the pauses, the silence grew more deafening and drove her down
deeper and deeper into her own loneliness.
We feel like strangers to each other so often in
our lives, I thought. It's hard enough as it is for most