When he falls, my
world crumbles. His legs just give way from beneath him, having been weary for
so long, eventually unable to support him any longer, weak muscles collapsing
even under his admittedly light frame.
My heart stops and
adrenaline shoots through my system. I panic. Thousands of thoughts fly through
my brain, most of them far too quickly to even register.
I wonder if this is what the internet is like
I shake it out of my
head, returning to my grandfather lying in a heap on the linoleum of the
kitchen floor. He makes a faint sound of pain and my heart breaks even further.
I race over to check
his state. There's no way I can pick him up and even if I could, there would be
nothing I could to do to help. He blinks groggily and as I grab his hand, his
grasp is almost non-existent.
I know he doesn't
want to go back to hospital; his existence is already a repetitive one, but at
least it is within the comfort of his own home. In hospital it's just the same,
only more clinical and structured. No-one in the family even dares to whisper
the unspoken thought
If he goes in again, it's unlikely that he'll ever
come out…
But as his body lies
in a pile in front of me, I don't have many other options. I swat at an itch on
my face that I vaguely recognise as tears. My heart is beating too quickly, too
intensely to be normal.
I pick up the phone
and punch the zero button three times before babbling answers to questions I
will not remember. I stroke my grandfather's face soothingly, trying to keep
the light in his eyes, at least until the ambulance arrives.
The phone sticks to
my face, wet with salty tears. My heartbeat doesn't stop racing. I don't know
if it ever will.
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