The Death of an Indigo Bunting(Stella Hernandez) My grandmother died on a Tuesday of all days, February 16th, 2021. That was one of the worst days of my life. I knew she was going to die, but I hadn’t expected it to come so soon. The effects of her death have impacted me for the rest of my life. She really was a wonderful woman. How could anyone know what I’m truly feeling? When she dies, will she see how I truly act? My thoughts ran through my head, like streams and rivers, rapid and rough.

I first remember when I was told my Nana was going to die; we were on vacation, my mother's birthday had been only days before, and we still had online school at the time. My father had called me upstairs, my mother sat on the couch in their room. At first, I thought it had something to do with me. Did they find out? Did I do something wrong? What’s going to happen to me? I thought that it was all revolving around me; now I wish it was only me getting in trouble.
My dad sat me down on the couch. He looked me in the eyes.
“Stella, Nana is sick."
Oh, ok, so did she get the flu or something? But I knew it was something else.
“She started to feel bad after her recovery, and we took her to the hospital."
Hospitals are usually bad signs. He heard nothing.
“They found something,” he started to explain. “Stella, Nana has cancer."
Oh. So- what does that mean? No wait - oh. He’s telling me she’s going to die.
“Is she going to be okay?" I already know the answer.
“Stella, I- I don’t think so. She’s becoming really sick, but she’s actually going to be coming up here for a little while while she’s being treated anyway." He told me. Was I supposed to be happy that my Nana was dying in my house? I swallowed, deep. My breath hitched in my throat. My dog came up to me, and he put his head between my legs on the couch.
“He can tell that you're sad.” My mom said only half-jokingly. I pet his head and scratch his ear, trying to make myself feel better. It didn’t work.

To be fair, we should honestly blame this on COVID. She had gotten COVID when me and my parents brought it to North Carolina, and my whole extended family had gotten it too, including my Nana. Even so, she wasn't dying from COVID, but that is how we found out she had cancer.
Her health had started deteriorating quickly after that;
“I want to be at home when I die, not in a white hospital room surrounded by doctors and machines, living my last days in chaos.” she had told us. I respected her choice; it’s what I would have wanted as well if I were her—to be with my family.

I soon realized that crying would do me no good, that people wouldn’t pay attention to me over my grandmother if I started to sob. As I lay in my bed, the ceiling looked quite interesting. I would have a chance to talk with my mother later, so that's what I would save my tears for. I knew she would start to cry as soon as she got the chance; she would want to talk to me about how I could deal with this and how everyone was going to miss her so much. She would talk about her as if she were already dead. My anxiety couldn’t be helped; I was sleeping in the room right next to her. Even though the walls were thin, I couldn’t hear a thing. Maybe she had no energy, or maybe her body wouldn’t allow her to make a noise.

Before things got this bad, she would sit on the leathery couch, and she would eat oatmeal for breakfast with us. Neer the end all she did was stay in her room, not speaking or moving, almost as if she were already dead. I remember her last words, though, about a week before she actually died. That morning I was sitting with her, I remember wanting to watch a movie with her, specifically Matilda. It’s a movie I've wanted to watch with her for a while. My parents had told me that one of the songs in that movie used to be one of her favorites. I thought it would be a nice surprise to hear it. I felt like this was my last chance.

I started to play the movie, but it only lasted 10 minutes before my mom came up to me and told me to cut it off. It bothered my Nana, she said. I felt bad for bothering her. I just wanted to hang out with her and do something nice with her while I still could. That’s when, all of a sudden, my cat, Chips, jumped up onto the mantle. I had gotten my cat six years ago, and she looked exactly like my old cat, Max. That’s when my Nana yelled,
"Max, get down from there!” shocking us all. My mom laughed, I giggled, my aunts just looked shocked, and my dad didn’t hear her. My giggles soon turned into laughter, along with my mom. Nana must really be sick, I thought. What we didn’t know was that she would stay silent for the rest of her life.

I remember the night she died. It was a chilling night at my house in Union Dale. The street lights were out, and the family crowded my house like tourists. My wooden house, although full of people, felt empty. I was sitting on the cold black leather couch, watching my family crowd around the small guest bedroom. Nurses and doctors had been in and out of my house, even a priest, to say one last prayer with her. At the time, I really didn’t think it would make much of a difference. I was trying to distract myself from the abundance of noise when my mom came over.
“Hey Stella, I have to ask you something.” She had told me. “Um, do you wanna go spend the night at your aunt’s?” Right. My aunt wanted me to stay there, so I didn’t have to be here for all of this.
"Sure, that’s fine.” I responded to her dryly. I wish I would have said ‘no’.

Arriving at my aunt's house felt strange, especially since it was pitch black outside. My aunt, with her thin blond hair, came bouncing out of her house towards us. She wrapped one arm around me and exchanged a few words with my mom. My mother kissed me on the cheek, said ‘goodbye’ and drove off, leaving us. When we got inside, my aunt Nicole asked me if I wanted to sleep with her; she knew I was going through a hard time. I agreed. Curled up in her bed, she put on a movie for us to watch. I remember I was beginning to drift off, even though I had only been there for 20 minutes. That’s when my aunt got the call; she stepped outside, and I continued to lay there with my thoughts. When she walked back into the room, her eyes were red, and her cheeks were puffy.

“Stella, it’s your Nana. She just passed.” That’s all she said—seven words. She helped me get up and wrapped a blanket around me. We walked back to her white car. The drive back to my house barely took 10 minutes. She sat there in the car crying, trying to help me by calling out comforting words. I just started out the window, wondering if my Nana could see me right now.

When I arrived back home, the nurse was packing up, and a doctor was talking with some of my family members. My aunt dropped me off by my mother; she looked at me. She was crying, obviously, when she took me to see my Nana. I remember holding onto her hand; it was already cold, but that was to be expected; it was freezing in my house. Her skin was becoming paler by the second. I asked my mom to step outside so I could have a moment with her. I remember crouching down on the itchy, bland carpet, still holding onto her hand, and that was, I think, the moment it hit me. I wouldn’t even get to hear her talk again, so I decided to let her hear me one last time. I talked and talked and talked about my thoughts and about my feelings. I told her that if she could actually see me in the afterlife, then she would see a very different version of me when I was in front of her. I asked her not to judge me for my mistakes and to forgive me if she sees something she wishes she hadn’t. I stayed there for an hour. I finally cried, and only when my tears dried up did I pick myself up and let go.

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