MY GRANDMOTHER’S NURSE GAVE ME A SCRAWLED NOTE JUST BEFORE THE DOCTORS RUSHED IN
The monitor started beeping erratically, a high-pitched frantic sound that echoed in the small room, and I grabbed Grandma’s hand. The nurse burst in, her eyes wide with alarm.
My sister Natalie stumbled in right behind her, breathless and pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. “What’s happening?” Natalie gasped, her voice tight with something I couldn’t read in her face. The doctor gave rapid orders, calm but urgent over the noise of the machines.
Natalie muttered under her breath, “This is *always* happening when I’m finally here.” My heart pounded in my ears. “You don’t care, you just want her gone and the house sold!” I spat, the sterile smell making my stomach turn.
They started chest compressions now, a sickening rhythm that vibrated through the floor. Natalie flinched violently, turning her back to the bed completely. I watched, numb, listening only to the soft, almost imperceptible sigh from the bed over the beeping chaos.
Just then, the nurse leaned close and pressed a folded paper into my hand.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…My fingers closed around the paper, crinkled and warm from her hand. My eyes flickered to the nurse, but she was already turning back to assist the doctor, her face grim. The frantic beeping had stopped. Silence, heavy and absolute, fell over the room, broken only by the shallow, ragged breaths of the medical team and the echo of the last compressions in my own chest.
The doctor straightened up, his expression unreadable. He looked from the bed to me, then to Natalie’s rigid back. “Time of death,” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the stillness.
A choked sob escaped Natalie, and she finally spun around, her face wet with tears. Not the cold indifference I’d accused her of, but raw, messy grief that mirrored my own, even as the anger still simmered beneath it.
I stood frozen, the crumpled note clutched in my fist. Grandma was gone. The chaos had ceased, the fight was over. All that remained was the silence and the weight of the paper in my hand.
Slowly, my trembling fingers unfolded the note. It was indeed scrawled, the handwriting shaky but legible. It wasn’t from Grandma directly, but dictated to the nurse, perhaps in a moment of lucidity or premonition.
*My dearest [Protagonist’s Name – *I filled in my name internally*]*, it read. *Nurse Miller promised she would give you this. I love you more than words can say. Don’t let the hard times make you hard. About Natalie… she carries a heavy burden you don’t see. Her way of coping is different, but her heart isn’t cold. The house… let it be a place of happy memories, not a source of pain. It belongs to both of you, equally. Find peace in each other, for my sake. Forgive.*
My eyes blurred. Not a secret about Natalie’s greed, or a condemnation, but a plea for understanding. A last wish for reconciliation. Natalie was still crying, her shoulders shaking. The sterile room suddenly felt too small, too charged with unspoken words and regrets.
I looked down at the note again, the simple words of love and forgiveness a stark contrast to the accusation I had just thrown at my sister. The nurse had given it to me in the final moments, a bridge across the chasm of death and the divide between sisters. It wouldn’t erase the years of tension or the harsh words spoken, but it was a starting point. A whisper from Grandma, urging us towards peace.