My Grandmother and I’s Final Touch

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My Grandmother and I’s Final Touch

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About a week before my grandmother passed, I went down to visit her for the day and help my grandfather with work around the house. When I arrived at their house, my aunt handed me a pair of nail clippers and asked if I could cut my grandmother’s nails for her. I kneeled at her bedside and began my work. I do not recall how it smelled in my grandmother’s room, as I was wearing my mask the entire time. I imagine it smelled like a hospital room though. I felt the cold metal of the nail clippers and the soft skin from my grandma’s hand, as the hum of her ventilator filled the room. I could hear her voice as well, she was hallucinating due to cerebral hypoxia, whispering to me about the train tracks in her closet. In those moments I could taste nothing but my own saliva.
She died several days later on April 21, 2020, with my aunt, uncle, and grandfather in her company. I harbor great hatred for this virus, as it limited my time with my dying grandmother, and I harbor great disgust for everyone around me who refuses to take it seriously. You, however, don’t need to know about this. History does not care, it just happens.

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Personal Memory

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This item was submitted on October 26, 2020 by Natalie Herberger using the form “Share Your Story” on the site “A Journal of the Plague Year”:

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