Nothing Changes Everything

Nothing Changes Everything

                            Gina Kelley

I hear voices. The last time I heard voices, they were loud and sharp. I couldn’t see, but there was chaos all around me. It was a relief when they all faded, and everything became dark and silent. There was nothing. 

These voices are different. They are far away, muffled and distorted like I am listening in a cave. I try to listen, but the voices elude me.  This must be death. I am just here, staggering between nothing and the voices in the cave.  I am tired, so exhausted. I gratefully welcome nothing when it comes for me. 

Nothing has released me. I try to avoid coming here. Where is here? As the clouds of Nothing roll away, I hear voices. However, they are immediately silenced by a searing pain in my head. I feel my head will explode. I see shockingly bright lights. They dance around, pulsing with the pain. I shift between Nothing and pain at a dizzying speed. In the distance, I hear shrill and constant beeping. I try to focus on the noise to distract my brain from pounding and realize the beeps coordinate with the pain and lights. The blurry, hushed voices become loud and anxious. I cannot focus on the words, but the emotions are clear.

Alarm and concern. I feel claustrophobic, with voices swarming.  The voices are closing in.  Hands touch me, poke and prod, and still, I hear those screaming beeps. A soft voice cuts through the din. It pushes past the alarm and concern, the claustrophobia, the swarming and touching. I focus on that voice. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard, “Mama?”.  I strain to hear it again. Is it in my head or out there, with the chaos? I begin to calm, and my breathing slows. I hear another voice, a man, “I’m sorry, dear, but nothing has changed”.  I know Nothing. It is silent, dark and peaceful. Being with Nothing has no beeping, swarming, pain, or lights. A burning sensation runs through the vein in my arm. Immediately, my mind settles, then stills. Nothing accepts me back into its embrace. 

I am rising from Nothing again, but this is different. There are voices, not from a cave, but in my head. They are sharp, clear, and happy. Pictures flicker in my head. As I watch, the voices and pictures merge. I absorb every detail. The jerky gray and white images morph as colors slowly seep in. I see a yellow flower, green grass, a blue sky, and bright toys scattered around the yard of a beautiful house. I look down and fall into her eyes—as deep blue as a sapphire with gold flecks that sparkle when she smiles. Now, sound sputters into the movie. I hear that voice again, not questioning this time but giggly and confident. “Mama, watch!” I realize the scene is closing around me. I try to wedge myself back into the movie, but the curtain is closing. I reach and say, “I’m watching, baby,” as the blue sky turns gray and a tiny sliver of light is disappearing. Did she hear me? I try to force the memory again, but Nothing is coming—a respite from visions in my head. Nothing is pulling me down, down, down.

Nothing is releasing me as I hear screaming in my mind. My voice has shattered Nothing.  “I’m here”! Someone, please notice me.  I float, barely above Nothing, suspended between light and dark, sound and silence, here and there. This time, I want to leave Nothing. I want out. I have memories of people waiting for me.  I need to be seen and heard. I need someone to touch me and pull me away from Nothing. I wait expectantly, like a princess, to be awakened by love’s first kiss. But now, I feel like my feet are in quicksand. Nothing is trying to hold me back. It pulls now - my legs, waist, heart, and soul. In the past, Nothing was my solace. I welcomed it when invited in, but now it is a monster with tendrils wrapping around me.

Panicking, I realize that Nothing was ever my safe, quiet place. Nothing wants to keep me.  Nothing wants to erase my memories, voices, and pictures. I strain and try to pull away, kicking as hard as possible, trying to rise above Nothing. The tendrils are relentless and continue to pull me down. I am tired, but I continue to fight. I am shrouded by exhaustion, but I will continue my futile attempt.  I stop to rest, just for a minute. I am so tired of fighting. I am tired of the energy it takes to leave Nothing. I am tired of reaching for things I will never see again. I do not want to continue to live with beeping machines, old memories, and cave voices. I’ll rest. I will fight Nothing another day, another week, another year. I am descending serenely into Nothing, and I welcome it. The quicksand softens, and the wrenching tendrils are warm, comforting hugs. I feel wrapped in my grandmother’s blanket and surrendering to Nothing. I know it is more powerful than me.  Yes, this is what I want. Warmth and silence are engulfing me. I crave Nothing and allow it to envelope me without hesitation.

My breath slows, and the constant beeping matches my breathing. My body, mind, and soul float toward Nothing. I am peaceful. The noise from the machine is slowing. I do not struggle to feel or think. I refuse the instinct to breathe. I release life. 

Unexpectedly, my brain attempts to connect to a fleeting specter, but it’s too late. I have no desire to come back. Nothing is my home. Now, I have the awareness of a touch. The sensation is moving from my hand to my heart. I rouse, just enough to remember what a little hand feels like in mine. Consciousness is rising in me. I grip tightly and hang on. I hear a familiar voice whispering, “I think she moved!”  Yes, I am moving. I am gripping that tiny hand because I know these voices and these people. This little hand is my savior. These are the only things that can release me from Nothing. I hear the machines beeping again, but now they are solid and steady. I struggle to focus, move, speak, and absorb all these new sensations. I hear her, “Mama?” This word makes me comfortable and real. My mind is coming alive, and I know I need this. There is no room for Nothing here. My heart smiles as I hear again, “Mama?” 

“Yes, darling,” I whisper.