the old woman sat on the sidewalk, in a pool of orange light amidst a spackling of shadows. as i approached she looked briefly up. did she see then the heavy trod of my feet as i watched them take me one step at a time, away from the World of Others to the loneliness of my home?
she began to sing, letting her voice ring clear in the quiet street; her voice was steady and unwavering, and unembarrassed by the haphazard arrangement of the improvised melody:
Wag kang malungkot, anak, wag kang malungkot...
that brought a smile to my soul, one that briefly brushed my lips. i thought that was worth a coin or two from my pocket.
as i walked past her, she sang her gratitude as well.
*
my grandmother will not eat, and she will not listen.
she scratches at her skin, as though tormented by it. her skin turns red with the frequent passage of her nails, and begs for medicine that will not take the itch away.
she lies on her side and refuses to rise, curses her children for the concern she does not see they are feeling, and only briefly finds respite in sleep.
she was asleep when we left the hospital. my mother wept in the elevator on our way out.
i still do not know how i feel about it all. not exactly. she is my last living grandparent. i've only recently started to get to know her, and already her sickness has taken her mind away from me.
when i think of her, i prefer to remember her as Mabel met her, and miss her smiles and laughter at everything.
but the image of her lying there in that hospital bed looms not far behind.
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