Personal Narrative#1:For the first time

   I felt ‘it’. It was filling the hospital room every dropping second. Revealing its body gradually in the room blocked out of light, its shadow added itself to the darkness. ‘It’ was everywhere. On the curtains against the white wall. Under the single bed covered in white duvet sheet. Around the body of my grandmother. It was as real and close as a living person standing right behind. It was breathing in the same air I breathed in. In the corner of the room, I saw grandmother lying on a bed. I whispered,

   ‘Grandma, it’s me. It’s me.’
   No response. Instead, she inhaled air every second, relying on oxygen supplier. On top of her, there was a white duvet and a blanket which seemed too heavy for her. She lied down as still as a trapped water. I felt ‘Death’, for the first time in my life.

   I did not go to the hospital immediately after I heard grandmother was hospitalized. On hearing the news, my heart sank. However, I did not go. I tried to spend some time with her before she got hospitalized. Sometimes, I would simply sit on a sofa with her and stay like that for some time. I talked about trivial things in the outside world, in my life. How big the moon was last night, how I tried so hard to finish my homework, why exercising is so important, or simply, why I had my hair cut. As time passed, I could not but notice her liveliness faltering. When she seemed to have grown more tired and weak, and all I could do was to watch or be startled. On hearing the fact that she got hospitalized, I did not go immediately. Instead, I convinced myself I had ‘things’ to do. I was a high school student with a lot of important tasks and businesses to care about, and had new people to meet. It would have taken too long to pay her a visit. I could go next week. Maybe a week after, when I got out of dormitory. With piles of ridiculous excuses, I tried to comfort myself.

   In front of the hospital room, I stood hesitating. It was quiet in the corridor. The door was firmly closed and the room inside was dark. I opened the door, almost sensing something. Oxygen supplier and linger were attached to her body in the corner of the room. They were leaking out yet another second of life. The room itself was not so big, yet it seemed too big for grandmother. Biting down my sadness, I sat beside her. I felt the warmth of her hand. I looked at her face again. I talked to her as I used to, when grandmother and I were together on the sofa. I told her that everything was fine, that there was not a thing to worry about, that she could relax. For the first time in my life, I realized how one could choke from that overwhelming feeling.

   It was a bright day. Outside the hospital building, the sky was remarkably blue and winds carried with themselves some hint of spring. People wore thick winter coats no longer. Everything was normal. Everything was moving on. In the middle of the brightness, I thought how awkward I would have looked in the scene. Still feeling the warmth in my hand, I observed how things were ‘moving on’. For the first time in my life, I felt cruelty of the indifferent jolliness.