the last thing I expected

The last thing I expected to see when I went to the hospital today was my mother, but that is what I saw. I took three steps into the ICU and I saw her, sitting up in a chair, and most remarkable of all, her eyes were open. All the way from the nurse's station I could see my mother's dark brown eyes.

Viv and Lorraine were there, having driven in from Reno for the second time in two weeks. Viv is my mother's best friend of more than fifty years; Lorraine is her daughter. My sister was there, too, and she told me to come in, even though I had Felony with me and there is a rule against more than two visitors at a time.

"They don't care," Diane said. "They're glad we're here, they told us, because we can watch her and make sure she doesn't pull any of her tubes out."

When I stepped into the room, she saw me, but I couldn't tell if she really recognized me. I try not to get my hopes up. Expect the worst, I always say, and you're never disappointed. Some part of me wanted to blurt out, "Is it really you?" but I managed to say something less accusatory. Then Felony stepped up to the chair and said shyly, "Hi, Nana," and my mother, forced to wear wrist restraints that were tied to the chair, leaned forward and rested her head against Felony's belly and closed her eyes.

"She's giving you a hug," Viv said in her soft voice.

Felony bent down and slowly, gingerly, so as not to disturb any of the tubes or wires, put her arms around her Nana and rested her cheek on my mother's head. It was the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time.

I excused myself and hurried to the waiting room to hustle the other two kids back to the ICU. The other night I saw a nurse giving a big boy of eleven and three-quarters a hard time. But now all the nurses seemed to have their backs discreetly turned as I smuggled in Jinx, who is not even close to twelve. So all three of the kids got to give Nana a hug and a kiss and to know that she knew they were giving it.