© Morgan Hevel-Wagner | Virtual Care
My shoes squeak against the freshly mopped linoleum floor.
The rhythmic beeping of machines sounds like fire alarms in a black void.
The heavy sobs of a wife as her husband’s last breath echoes into the hallway.
My mother’s room, illuminated by iridescent LEDs, glows from the corner.
Her IV pump sings an aria of completion.
The smell of antiseptic is strong as another vial is filled.
The snapping of butterfly wings clicks into place.
A white silk tape zips as it is torn from a roll.
The chair, cold and plastic-like, sticks to my calves.
A warm sheen purrs through the vents, creating a layer of sweat at my hairline.
The sound of plastic bags being shook out and pagers beeping are almost hypnotizing.
Whispers escape the lips of nurses, respecting an untold rule of silence.
My mother’s hand is warm, but unmoving against my grasp.
Today the sun cleared the foggy morning.
The mist of uncertainty begins to recess as a cardinal lands outside my mother’s window.
The red bird unknowingly looks toward me, towards my mother.
I smile as the winged creature hops impatiently.
As I think of our past loved ones showing their presence.
Giving my mother, my family, and myself strength and patience during this deafening silence.
If only my mother would respond to my touch, my tears, and my words.
Her response is written in computer scripts and data.
A computer that cannot repeat her laugh or smile, but could keep her alive.
I begin to trace small circles into my mother’s palm, trying to memorize the lines in her skin.
As the sun streaks into her room, the warmth caresses our skin.
Her hand tightens around mine.
My mother’s voice breaks all silence.