Whenever I find myself in the hospital room, I stand next to the bed on which rests my dead mother. This happens many, many times in indecipherable periods. I am looking out the window. It is June 14, meaning I am nearly 17.5 years old. I am staring at the white blinds. They are slanted open. I look through countless strips of plastic.
Staring at the blue sky. I can see it above the top of the concrete roof. I’m captivated by the stunning blue sky above the hospital’s concrete roof. The sky appears clear, and light, reserved for days with a gentle breeze and minimal pollution. My friend Danny and I quickly left our trailer in San Jose after receiving a call around 7:30 a.m. It’s now around 9:30, not yet 10:00. As the day progresses, loses its clarity and the heat will intensify, fitting for the June 14th, 1990 weather.
Observing my mother, I’m amazed at her peacefulness, accentuated by the neat, white bandage wrapping the top of her head. Despite the underlying concern about her wound, her face appears remarkably smooth. The lines around her eyes have softened. Her eyelids are at absolute rest. blue, a rare si the light will roof belongs to the fifth floor of the other wing of The Hospital. The sky is blue above the concrete roof of the hospital. It’s that clear, clear, clear, clean, lightish blue. A gift. This blue only happens for a little bit of time. It shows up on days with a slight breeze and little pollution. Danny and I–Danny Lee Clark Junior (he’s dead now, too) and I–had left the trailer in San Jose. We left after the call came. It was around 7:30 a.m. Now, it was around 9:30. It wasn’t yet 10:00. The light would be less clear at 10:00. It would start to look hot. And it was, after all, June. June 14th. 1990. I look at my mother. I look at her. She looks peaceful. I’d never seen her look so peaceful. Ever. The bandage wrapped around the top of her head was neat, and clean, and white. It only covered the top of her eyebrows. I would not–did not–think about the bloody wound hiding beneath the clean, white dressing. I realized that I’d never seen her face so smooth, the lines around her eyes had softened. Now I stared at her eyelids, which simply rested. Still.
This is how I’d always remember my mother’s face. Still. Peaceful, at sleep.
Peaceful.
Michelle O’Kane 