Enlightenment - May 11, 2007
I was sixteen when we found out that my Grandfather was going to die. The man I had once described as a "lightning bolt made of human skulls" was running out of power, becoming a victim of ever-pervasive entropy. Cancer had worked its way into a few cells in his liver and had then gone on to consume the entire organ in its mad hunger for flesh. I had been at the side of his hospital bed for over twenty-four hours when my aunt Cynthia arrived. Dressed in a shawl she held a few crystals in her hand and had an ungodly amount of make-up on her face. She posited that she would succeed where "so-called" medicine had failed. Drawing upon some hitherto undefined "vibrations" emerging from the heart of the cosmos she would channel some similarly undefined "energy" to scour the cancer from my Grandfather's body. Such was the conviction and assurance with which she spoke that my Grandfather was actually compelled to temporarily look at her in between turning the pages of the sports section.
As machine blips and EKG spikes produced by over two-hundred years of rational thought monitored my Grandfather's vital signs, my aunt Cynthia placed her hands upon his body and began to hum. She was a student of the ancient Japanese art of "Reiki," which by the virtue of being ancient and Japanese was sure-fire cure to any disease.
"Knock it off Cynthia, I'm trying to read the paper," my Grandfather muttered.
"Dad, it doesn't look good. Your aura is turquoise." Cynthia bit her tongue in between her teeth, and hummed louder, no doubt shattering the psychic walls that lay between her and complete success by increasing the volume.
"Your aura is retarded," my Grandfather muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. I made sure to put a muffin in my mouth to choke the sound of laughter. My Grandfather turned to me and winked just as I swallowed. I hastily reached out to grab a pitcher of water, as I began to choke on a malevolent piece of blueberry.
As I coughed and pounded my chest in the background, my aunt Cynthia began to explain the exact rigors of the spiritual battle within.
"I've done all I can. The energy just isn't right. I have some crystals I want to leave with you."
"Diamonds and emeralds no doubt," my grandfather murmured, while positioning his glasses toward the tip of his nose to read a piece of fine print that had otherwise eluded him. Cynthia began to empty a set of small multi-colored quartz crystals on his hospital bed, explaining how each one would, again in some mysterious manner, "vibrate" the cancer right out of him. "What do you think, Dad?"
"Oil prices are going to rise, and they're going to keep rising for a long time," he flipped down the top of a page about world affairs and displayed a picture of an oil barge, in the open sea.
"About your illness, Dad," Cynthia put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips in agitation.
"I think I've got about three months." He folded the paper into his lap, and turned to me just as I was fully recovering from my forced Heimlich maneuver. "Hand me one of those muffins, BC. They look good."
As his aged canines and incisors mashed the foam-like structure of breads and sugars into smaller, more digestible bits, to be absorbed by the tissues of his dying body, aunt Cynthia railed against such filth. The food was "processed" and not "organic," which due to her inflection took on something of the characterizations of "evil" and "good." She explained, to our mutual horror, that the muffins we were eating even contained "chemicals." In fact, cigarettes also contained "chemicals" and since cigarettes were unhealthy and they contained chemicals, anything else containing chemicals must be similarly detrimental to an individual's health, by feat of a syllogism beyond the power of a mere human mind to understand. My Grandfather and I decided to spare her the knowledge that she was, in fact, composed entirely of chemicals, because we felt such a revelation might have compelled her to commit suicide.
In the end, my Grandfather went home, and spent the last few months of his life in the backroom, surrounded by hospice nurses, and crystals my aunt Cynthia had placed around him when he lost the ability to remove them. When I could, I sat by him and read a few books. Occasionally, I would see some sign that he was aware of my presence, and that was all I needed for an excuse to say. He had been there for me. I would be there for him. Every now and again, aunt Cynthia's faint hums of silent battles with magical forces provided a bit of music to interrupt the monotony of the dying.
In the end, despite the assistance a hundred cosmic vibrations, a thousand exchanges of "energy," and a million wishes that counted for nothing in the eyes of the universe, the torch of consciousness passed down to my Grandfather by a thousand generations of ancestors, back to the emergence of mankind itself, finally surrendered its last few embers and went dark. Aunt Cynthia continues to hum. The End.
Posted by BC Woods at 12:00 AM
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Lived like a eal man, died like a real man. Not a bad way go to knowing you have raised children and a grandson. Guy definatly deserved a peacful rest/
Posted by: Squerlli at May 11, 2007 01:28 AM
After my own grandfather passed away last november I can still relate. When my Grandfather was wasting away, the last conversation I had with him was him in his room and he was watching the news and looked at me and my girlfriend and said "Oh, they got you two on babysitting detail now". He passed away 2 days after that. I can always remember him being the things he was and the things he wasn't. But thats all I got on the man.
Posted by: Putter at May 11, 2007 03:52 AM
Sorry to hear about the loss even though it's in the past stuff like that is never easy to go through I know.
Cynthia reminds me alot of my insane overly religous aunt and slightly of my mother who's a health freak and the same way about processed foods and chemicals. Not to mention buys vitamins like most women buy shoes we have so many. I keep telling her worrying about her health that much is unhealthy.
Posted by: Juneau at May 11, 2007 05:33 AM
I am so sorry for your loss. Watching my grandfather die, as Alzheimer's slowly and inexorably wrenched his soul from his body, was incredibly difficult. You want desperately to keep them, but at the same time you want them to be at peace. In any event, I am very glad you had an oak in a life populated with crazy shrubs. Your writings, along with Devil Monkey's, stand head and shoulders above the rest of the Rudius Media family. The poignancy with which you write is very touching, and your stories, unlike the others, stay with your readers after they are read.
Posted by: The Duchess at May 11, 2007 10:05 AM
BC-
I love the way you write. I have an advantage over your other reader's in that I knew your grandpa. You capture everything about him. His actions, words, etc. When I read the story I felt like I was in the room with you. You are a wonderful writer and I can hardly wait to read more. I wish you knew my dad a little better. I would love to see what you could write about him.
Posted by: Debbie O at May 11, 2007 11:30 AM
Damn man, made me cry. My grandmother passed away this january, I also sat by her for 2 weeks till she passed. The last thing she said to me was to get a job lol.
BC: Sorry Chris. Both for your loss and for making you cry.
Posted by: Chris at May 11, 2007 04:12 PM
I am sorry to hear about your grandfather.
Posted by: mommiebear2 at May 12, 2007 01:25 PM
I haven't cried in quite some time and this story came very close to making me shed tears. In part because I can relate to having a grandfather that was quite the "man's man", in part because the story adds to the portrayal of lost innocence of your childhood.
well done, BC.
Posted by: Anonymous at May 12, 2007 05:39 PM
Someday, you must tell us the story as to how "a lightning bolt made up of human skulls" ended up with a daughter like your aunt. I think evolution might have skipped a beat and taken a day off there.
Posted by: Eureka at May 13, 2007 10:56 PM
It's really good, BC. I wore a red dress to my grandfather's funeral and cheered when they slammed the fucker into the earth so I can't relate but I am instantly drawn to your aunt. They seem so mismatched but it's splendid. I wish I knew more people like your grandfather and less like my own.
Posted by: Lulu at May 14, 2007 11:19 PM
This made me so sad. But also happy because you had that great relationship with him. But mostly sad right now. I miss my grandad.
Posted by: Kim at May 16, 2007 01:21 AM
i think i read somewhere that you are not a man who thinks much of god. i also read that you love your little sister. i can tell that you love your family and fellow man. know that there is a god out there, you saw him in the eyes of that baby and you saw him in the eyes of your grandpa...if you look hard enough you will see him in your own eyes.
BC: I have the Universe. That is all the God I need, but thank you anyway.
Posted by: we all got to go at May 18, 2007 01:48 PM
I lost a friend to cancer. This is a great story, remember them for who they were in life. Keep on writing.
Minor typo in a very moving sentence: "Occasionally, I would see some sign that he was aware of my presence, and that was all I needed for an excuse to say."
I think it is supposed to be stay? Not trying to nitpick, but I think that something powerful like that should also be completely polished.
Posted by: Jake at May 22, 2007 08:22 PM
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