León Hurtado Evelyn, Uprightness Till The Grave

UPRIGHTNESS TILL THE GRAVE

Written by Evelyn León Hurtado

“I don’t get it. How did I end up here?” I thought to myself.

“Let’s call her parents,” an echoed voice flooded my ears dramatically. Wait, wait wait, give me a second to process all of this, why are they calling my parents? First of all, who are these people? I think I need to wake up because I’m not getting the whole picture of this scenario.

“Go with that defibrillator to the pediatric wing, we have a blue code.”

The echoed voice stormed my ears once again but I find it less confusing now. Wait, wait, wait, what is a defibrillator? Did they use it on me? There’s more than an echoed voice in this room. I can hear it. I can hear the steps of the echoed voice getting out of the room. His sneakers are producing a disturbing sound like when an animal screams in pain. I can hear the breathing of two female individuals just beside this bed.

The door has been shut down carefully, I almost did not hear the creaking of the door; with everything I had heard, I am sure that I am at Hlatikhulu Government Hospital. The two women here must be nurses, I don’t understand why I have not woken up, I do not know how long I have been asleep, I am not really asleep, I am just not able to open my eyes or control my body. Maybe is the anesthesia, maybe they gave me very strong painkillers and that’s why I am not able to move. Eventually, it doesn’t hurt. I do not feel anything at all. I have not listened to anything new for a while now. Everything is silent now. I can’t picture anything else because the absence of noise is a black deep silent square in my mind.

“Are you sure you want to come inside?” The echoed voice from a while ago interrupted my unexisting thoughts.

“We need to see her, of course, we are coming into this room!” That was Mother. Why is my mother outside this room? It is definitely my mother’s talking, I can recognize her voice. And if dad is with her it won’t be easy to tell because he

is not a man of many words. The creaking of the door disturbed me once again. They are inside the room. And now what? I’m getting a little bit stressed here. I can listen, to everything they are saying. Pain is gone, nothing hurts now, but I cannot open my eyes and see what it is happening? This is a nightmare.

“We did everything we could, we are very sorry for your loss.” I think a doctor said that.

“I guess, I am even more confused now, Who died? For sure it was not me because I can hear you.” I thought to myself again.

I can hear even my father’s heartbeat just on top of my elbow as if he was crying over his daughter with pity, as he usually does. “What exactly happened? I need to know every single detail of this situation because it is unacceptable.” I heard the voice of my mother, shouting in the background, as usual.

“The patient identified as Atropos arrived at the hospital in critical conditions, meaning that the patient vital signs were not stable, and since the vital signs were unstable and not within normal limits. The patient was unconscious. Indicators were unfavorable. We were not able to operate her without the family’s consent, but she also had a very low purse, and unfortunately, we lost her after 4 minutes, during the CPR movement. Nevertheless; after several Post Mortem exams, the emergency department concluded that the patient had some pre-existing chronic conditions...”

The doctor suddenly stopped. But wait, this is just too much information for me. Did he say Atropos or I am just crazy? Are they talking about me? I am not dead, that cannot be possible because I can hear you. I can hear the neurosis of my mother; her hands are starting to move psychotically all over the bottom of her blouse. I know it, I hear it. I can hear the chewing gum of the doctor every time a word comes out of

his mouth. I can listen to the napkin my dad is throwing into the dustbin of this room at this exact moment. How could I be dead if I am aware of everything in my surroundings?

“What condition?! Go ahead, continue…” Mother encouraged the doctor, the cynicism is just inevitable, it has always been.

“I am sorry, but she died from an overdose; on behalf of the Hlatikhulu hospital, we would like you to know, that we are deeply sorry for your loss.” The doctor responded firmly.

“Ohh, not the drugs, the devil finally took my daughter, God why would you let Satan win?” I could hear my mother crying and there she started her speech, everything is about ‘god’ for her. I understand the point where humans need to believe in something ‘greater’ to find a purpose for their life. It is normal. I’ve lived with this kind of speech for 18 years, some hours more of hearing her will not make any difference. Mother is talking about the abomination Satan created when drugs arrived in the world. However, I think I should focus on what really matters here, the ‘why’ I am supposedly dead.

“The doctor said Atropos died.” As far as I remember I’ve been Atropos since birth. My parents are here. Although my dad has not spoken, his heavy breathing and strong elephant footsteps are unmistakable. But wait; I also heard the doctor saying “on behalf of the Hlatikhulu hospital,” so for sure, I am at Hlatikhulu. If I connect the dots everything would be extremely clear. If I am really dead, How come? I can listen to everything they are saying. How is that even possible?

I believe Mr. Conroy at school was right. He was not trying to scare us. Some years ago, he told us that hearing is thought to be the last sense to go into the dying process. Which meant, even if they appear to be unconscious or restless, never assume the person is unable to hear you. It makes sense at this moment now. My hearing ability is functioning while my

body is completely dead. For how long is this going to be like this? I just want to hear the funeral scene.

I can’t tell for how long I have been here now, but I could hear a storm of silence, usually, this kind of silence would normally relax me, especially on an inky night lacking even moonlight or stars, just like now that everything is dark now, and I am supposedly dead. I can feel it. I think we are at my funeral. At this moment I am just wondering what will happen next. Am I going to be able to listen forever? If I do, what exactly will I be listening to when soil becomes my only sense of comfort? Will I be focusing on the worms that will be vanishing my body? I do not know, nobody ever knows. For now, I could hear people entering the room. By the echoed voice in the background, I think it’s an open space, maybe a church, I can hear Aunt Marie’s high heels and baby Neo footsteps all over. I remember that he is a playful kid and how he confuses every family event, I wonder if he understands that I am dead. The empty silence makes me focus on the black space of my mind. Memories stopped being a creation since this whole chaos began. Now, everything is only happening in my head. Existence is not a fact for me anymore.

This silence is suspicious. Many breathing sounds but a humongous emptiness of words. What is about to happen? I can listen to mother’s footsteps, her 5cm heels are knocking the wooden floor of this place as if she wanted to pass through the boundaries of the physical world. “Mother stopped.” I only hope she does not know. I only hope this loss creates a better mom. She swallows some dense saliva, she is about to speak.

“We are all gathered here to mourn the loss of my beautiful child Atropos and to say goodbye. I’m not going to start this with a typical ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’ because those pairs of 3 words are not good enough to express how I feel about her right now;

It still doesn’t make any sense that she is already gone and cannot listen to me right now. The only one I can talk right now is God, the one who decided to take her. If God decided that my daughter was not meant to be here right now, I accept it. God probably needed her more than we did. Because we lost her years ago when the devil got her to use drugs for the first time. Thank you all for being here,”

An infinite dense silence is invading the room. I can feel the tension. I can almost picture my father with his inexpressive face. He does not know what to do. He does not want to hug her because she is not in pain. She is a strong woman. She never found out the truth. I will remain as the drug addict daughter who died from an overdose. Nothing worth keeping in mind.

I love you, mother. I know you can’t hear me right now but you are wrong; dead people can hear. We can listen to you. I was able to feel your words. I was able to find your love between your god. I will never forget you. Maybe you were not always there, but I thought you were. Maybe you didn’t listen to me, but I thought one day you would. I am sorry, that I was not the daughter you wanted, but you were the mother I needed.

I needed to learn by myself and life has been the best teacher I ever had. I needed to understand that pain is not meant to be shared. I am really glad you never found out the truth. I am happy that you are fine with my absence because I could have never forgiven myself for sharing my pain. The meaning of life is that it stops. I was never able to comprehend the meaning of life until it was gone. Your words, those I wanted to hear at my funeral where just the ones you expressed. They were a melody that flooded my death system with vitality. I am just happy there are no tears left for me. I am just pleased that my absence is a relief for you.

Some chattering is disturbing my thoughts. Everyone is in funeral mode again. Although I couldn’t see my father, I

can feel his presence around me. He does not need to speak. I know he is right beside me. His harsh breathing will always be an atypical melancholy for my ears. Neo is now crying behind the coffin. I can tell he fell, those tears scream pain out loud. Yet, everything continues to be so normal. This could be a normal family reunion. Some weeks from now this will be just one more episode for the series of life. Fortunately, only to this inert body pain, will be kept as an unpleasant memory.

“Uprightness till the grave.” I used to say to myself when I was in pain. Mother will die thinking I was a drug addict, not an AIDS patient who never discovered the cause of her disease. Mother will never feel ashamed of having an HIV positive daughter around her so devoted church service friends. I remember those three men walking down the street on a normal school day. Those three men who showed me a napkin with an address written with red ink. Those men who were only asking for directions, but at the same time, they were also creating my inevitable destiny. Those men who I do not remember how stole everything I was afraid of losing in life.

Being an AIDS patient was not easy. It was not easy to struggle with hiding the truth and experiencing it with every cell of my body. It was easier not to tell, it was easier not to extend my suffering to my beloved family. Going into treatment by myself could have not been the best choice. Yet, I created my path, I created my present. I am the only responsible for the treatment not to work. I never screamed for help, because nobody was worth suffering for my pain. My parents never wanted to, and that is the reason they decided to ignore it. They ignored my bruises, they ignored my drastic weight loss, they ignored my gaunt aspect, they ignored my constant flues, they ignored my dramatic hair loss, they ignored my lost spark. They ignored me and once the doctor said drugs, they thought they always knew. They stick to a coherent diagnose

that will make them feel less guilt. They did what every logical human does; avoid guilt by believing in something that is not true.

Now I know that life hurts a lot more than death. Now I know that death is not the greatest loss in life, the greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live. Death shouldn’t be feared, because death is not the end. Pain is gone and death introduced the graduation of my soul. They say that life is too short to wait, but death is doing the beginning of eternity, a painless one; the one I have always wanted to have ever since I was diagnosed with this murderous virus.

Our mind thinks of death, our heart thinks of life, but I think on immortality, I use my soul, end of the story. Or maybe I don’t, and this is just a dream. Maybe I do not think about you Mother, maybe this whole time you were right, and I was just meant not to exist anymore. Maybe I just created this whole scene in my head, and I am just meant to wake up for another monotonous school day.