On Grudges

It’s something that eats away at you, carving out your inner most spaces, and leaving them barren. Then, slowly over time, fills those spaces with a poisonous gas that swells the area around it until closing in on itself. You’re missing what was there before, and now in its place is a deformed mass compensating for its absence. It’s a condition you would like to blame someone else for infecting you with—but it was your decision to let it invade and occupy, and continues to be your decision to let it fester—so who is really to blame? No doctor will find the medicine or procedure to cure you of your ailments—it seems only you know the remedy, and it seems that you have forgotten it over all these years.

There was a cacophony of noise, ending in a loud thud that shook the floor, and then—quiet. What followed next was yelling and accelerated heart beats from one end, and more silence on the other end. As time began to stretch like water cascading off a cliff with no visible pool to fall into, a muffled “everything is alright, I’m okay” is heard. My grandfather twists the lock and opens the bathroom door before collapsing into my mother’s arms in the hallway. I’m at her side after a strained cry, helping to lower him onto the floor. Soon I’m on the phone with 911, spewing words I can’t remember now. There’s sirens and then there’s dirty boots parading down my hallway taking my grandfather to the hospital.

I haven’t spoken to him in years; can’t even remember what started the argument. So why have I been carrying this poisonous swell inside me for so long? I let it spread and ignored all the symptoms. And now my grandfather lies swathed in hospital blankets, surrounded by people trained to make it look like they know what they’re dealing with, like they have the answers. Maybe it’s time to take a visit to the hospital myself, have them carve out the deformed mass and replace it with all the good stuff I’ve been missing. Maybe it’s time to let go of this grudge.

– D.Y.