The Forbidden Fruit
The service at this hospital is always despicable! Grandma has pruned to a brittle pile of bones, almost only defined by a familiar scent. But even her gentle Oakwood aura is being consumed by a fragrance fit for a sewer every day. I fear I may be crushing her skinny little fingers, so I let go and face the entrance to her room, awaiting a nurse or doctor to pounce on. If they don’t show up, my hand will be forced—forced into chaotic discourse!
