The Winner's Game(39)
Grandma’s ocean-blue eyes seem to double in size. She nods eagerly, then asks, “L-l-letter?”
“Yes, there’s a letter. Would you like me to read it?”
Grandma Grace’s expectant eyes fill with moisture as she nods once more.
I open the lid, unfold the letter, and clear my throat, then read as clear and sure as I can, wanting her to savor every last word:
“July seventeenth, 2000. My sweet Grace. I trust and pray that you will again find our buried treasure. Don’t forget: ‘For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also…’
“It is late at night, and though I am weary, I am unable to find rest. We both know what is soon to come. How many days remain for me in this world only God can say, but this much I know of myself: Even after I am gone, I will always be with you.
“I have prayed for you every night, that you will be kept safe and well when I am gone. Please do not shed too many tears at my passing, for I am never far away. You are, and always have been, my greatest treasure. All my love, Alfred Birch.
“P.S. Consider this my final move in the Winner’s Game. I already long for the day when we can play it again!
“P.P.S. If you found this note and you are not Grace Birch, I beg you to return it to the beach where you discovered it. This treasure is not lost…it’s just waiting for my Grace to find it.”
The tiny pools of water that were previously in Grandma’s eyes have migrated to the cracks and crevices of her cheeks. A loving smile adorns her aged lips. She seems completely at peace. “R-r-ring?” she asks.
How could I forget! “Yes, I’m so sorry. There is a ring.” I hold up the plastic ring with its blue candy heart.
She squints, but can’t make out the words.
I gently reach out and touch her hand. “It says, ‘Miss You.’”
She nods again, then lifts her eyes to the ceiling and repeats the phrase to someone she can only see in her mind. “M-miss you.” Another tear escapes her wrinkled eyelids and plummets down her face. With a hint of a smile, she drops her gaze to meet mine.
“Grandma, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what is the Winner’s Game? Is that what all your scorecards were for?”
She nods. “In g-gurnels,” she whispers, sounding suddenly exhausted.
“Come again?”
She takes a deep breath and tries her darnedest to re-form the word. “Grrr-nels.” A look of frustration flashes across her face. Followed immediately by something else. Something awful. Fear, I think. And incredible pain. A second later she winces, then cries out, then gives a little moan and closes her eyes.
In the same instant, one of the monitors near her bed begins flashing wildly while a low-grade alarm screams out for help. We barely have time to register that something is wrong when two nurses come running into the room. Everyone backs away from the bed so the nurses can work on her.
Half a minute later another nurse runs in with an external defibrillator. I hear the word “arrhythmia” used three times before they finish adhering electrical leads to her chest and rib cage.
“Close your eyes, Cade,” I shout across the room as Grandma’s naked torso jumps on the bed. He doesn’t obey. His eyes, like all of ours, are fixed. I wish I could reach across the room and shield his view. I wish I could shield my own view! I wish to God I could un-see what is happening, but my grandmother’s life is teetering precariously between this one and the next, and I have to know which way it is going to fall.
Ten seconds later, the buzzer stops sounding and the nurses take half a step back.
“Is she…gone?” asks Ann.
Before the nurses reply, the ECG monitor provides the answer when it returns to its normal rhythm. I watch as the line on the chart bounces between peaks and valleys, measuring the revived beats of a weary heart.
“She’s stable,” the senior nurse says. “Lucky, but stable. An ambulance is on the way to get her to the hospital. After an episode like this, she’ll need to be monitored there for a while.”
As I continue staring at the ECG, I can’t help but wonder if, in addition to measuring Grandma’s heart, the machine is also magically graphing our lives—high and low, high and low, like a roller coaster ride. Is that what life is supposed to be—a roller coaster? Always up or down, but never steady? Our family has had a lot of lows lately. When do we bounce to the next high?
Part of me wishes there were never any lows, but that’s just me being selfish. And unrealistic. Maybe jumping from high to low isn’t all that bad, because as soon as you’re stuck in a spot where the line goes flat, the thrill of the ride is over.