HEARTFELT & HEART WARMING STORIES

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GRANDMA'S CLOCKS

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This was written in 1992 Just before I graduated.

The assignment was for Fine Book Making Second Semester.

It was printed with a Flatbed Letter press and the type was set by hand and printed by a manual crank. Every letter was separate and locked into a block of type.

A SCAR FROM DEATH SINCE 1953

     I wandered in the hall at the hospital. I was afraid. They were coming toward me. They summoned me into a small room. In the room, Hospital equipment was strewn about as if a cyclone had been there sometime before. I was there with my father, mother, the doctor, a nurse and my sister. Everyone was silent, No one spoke.
      Finally the doctor said, "I'm sorry there is noting more we can do." Someone else spoke, but I could hardly hear them. My mind was full of fears and rushing thoughts. I stood there for a long time. The doctor finally said, " She is going to die. There is no cure." Why does she have to die, I thought.
      My father was told by the doctor that it would be best if we did not tell her. My father said, "Zan you can't tell her about this. She must only know that she has an ulcer."
      "But that is a lie. She has cancer and you know it", I protested. What if she had some special plan of some kind if she knew she was going to die." I finally agreed not to tell.
      The days and weeks passed slowly, I remember how I would choke the words whenever I saw her. Each visit to my grandmother's bedside was so hard for me. Each time she was a little weaker. Each time I was a little weaker too. Each time I wanted to tell her, but I was told not to.
      We visited her in teams toward the end. My father and I were one team and my mother and sister were the other. We did it that way because we didn't want to excite her.
      After two years she passed away. To this day, I wonder if I made the right decision in being silent. I don't know, but the scar of indecision lingers on.