We always long for more time

My granny went on hospice this week.

My granny, who helped raise my sister and me. Who picked us up from school, had us over for sleepovers, made cookies for us to decorate every Christmas, and came to every family vacation with us. The sweetest and most loving woman you could ever know. She is 90 now, and we all know it is such a blessing that she was here for so long. Many people don’t have their granny well into their 30s. She was able to meet my kids and watch them grow; she has been there through it all.

And now she lies in a hospice bed in her living room, hooked up to wires and on medication to limit the pain. She can’t see well, but her mind is as sharp as a tack. A blessing or a curse? Maybe both. I know her body is ready for rest, but her mind wishes she could stay. She does not want to leave her family. She wants to stay.

Stay, she tells her body. Just a while more. Just stay.

As I lie in bed with my 3-year-old a few miles away, I picture Granny. Lying in her bed. Waiting to move on to the next chapter, but wishing so badly she could be here to play and laugh and snuggle with us more. And I lie here, my son’s tiny hand is encased in mine. He snores and twitches as he dozes off. At first, all I can think of is the sink full of dishes, the shower I wanted to take, the sheets I need to change. Fall asleep, I think to him. Fall asleep, so I can get back to my to-do list. I try to pull my hand away, but he wakes.

“Stay,” he says to me. “Mommy, I want you to stay.”

And I think of Granny. Doing the same thing I am. Lying in bed. Wishing to be somewhere else. I look up into my son’s perfect face. His tiny teeth, aligned just right. His ash-blonde hair covering his eyes. His hand resting on his little shirt covered in basketballs and footballs. And I think, Stay. Hold his hand. Listen to his snores.

Just a while more. Just stay.

The laundry can wait. The dishes will be washed eventually. The sheets will be changed. But this moment will pass. And if I’m very lucky, in a long while, I’ll be lying in a bed as a very old woman, with grandkids and great-grandkids by my side. Wishing for more time to cuddle with them and sweep their hair out of their eyes and hold their hand as they doze off. Stay, I will think to myself.

Just a while more. Just stay.

I say a prayer for comfort for Granny, and hope she makes it until I can see her tomorrow. I squeeze my son’s little hand. I stare at his perfect face. Soon I will get up and tackle some to-dos. But for now, I will stay.

Just a while more.

Just stay.

Originally published on the author’s blog

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Nikki Specht

Nikki Specht is a mom of three littles, wife, tea lover, and lifelong bibliophile living in the Philadelphia area. She spent a decade in public education, mostly as a school counselor, but now spends her days writing from home with her children. When not reading a historical fiction book or playing with her kids, she’s writing about life through motherhood and grief. You can find her at Substack.com/@nikkispecht.