By Max Henrik
People always say the hospital is a miserable place, but no one warns you how quiet it gets at night—how the maddening, controlled beeping of the heart monitor was my only comfort. My mother’s dry fingers curled around mine, IV tubes like vines constricting her in a jungle of perpetual torment.
Nurses tiptoed around words, their faces soft with sympathy. I held my breath with every monitor beep, praying for noise and always terrified of silence. I would tell her stories through blurry eyes, my voice trembling on every other word. Just to make her smile again, one last time.
A beautifully written story. Very emotional.
You captured the hopeful desperation of a bedside vigil perfectly! Beautiful story.
So beautifully written bringing the scene alive through showing in the telling. I was there.
I really liked your first sentence. It grabbed me because it’s true — it really is a remarkable difference day vs night in a hospital. It feels like a special bit of inside knowledge to start your story with, yet I think most of us have experienced it. We can relate to it with you and feel like insiders. That was really smart. Good descriptions and a beautiful ending. I really like how the POV character is thinking of his/her mother instead of only him/herself, trying to coax a final smile from her (yet, is this actually happening? On a second read, I was confused because you changed from past tense to “would.”).
I can hardly imagine you wrote this without some personal experience behind it in some way. If so, I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m so glad you were there!