I look up from my iPad in the ER family waiting room. I'm horrified. Through puddling tears, I recognize the blurry figures dressed in white, huddled in the corner: a man clutching his wife to settle her shaking nerves. My parents. Another figure, clothed in pink, paces the floor throwing her arms in the air then hugging herself over and over again. Grandma. She chants and mumbles—at times begging, otherwise raging—words I don't understand to evoke a spirit no one sees.
FIGURES
FIGURES
FIGURES
I look up from my iPad in the ER family waiting room. I'm horrified. Through puddling tears, I recognize the blurry figures dressed in white, huddled in the corner: a man clutching his wife to settle her shaking nerves. My parents. Another figure, clothed in pink, paces the floor throwing her arms in the air then hugging herself over and over again. Grandma. She chants and mumbles—at times begging, otherwise raging—words I don't understand to evoke a spirit no one sees.