The automatic doors slid open, and cool air flooded out of the building, sending my long hair sailing back over my shoulders. Though it had been four years since I had last walked through the doors of Mercy Hospital, the smell of alcohol, urine, and flowers still stung my nostrils and flooded my senses with loss.

The waiting room was the same as I remembered it, cheery enough, with a small gift shop and pastel green-and-pink wallpaper. Flowers and magazines covered end tables next to uncomfortable-looking couches. I crossed the room, forcing a smile for the receptionist, and hit the up button next to the elevator.

The seventh floor was my destination, the floor where new babies and mothers rested and recovered. My cousin was there, wrapped in his own little blue blanket and tiny hat covering what was sure to be dark hair and eyes, just like his mom's and dad's. He was named after my grandpa, James Mikesell, and would have been Grandpa's first great-grandchild. My grandpa would have been so excited to hold him.

I looked out the window to the sunny summer day. It was so hot, the pavement appeared to be steaming. One of the few defining moments of my childhood happened on a day like this, with cement hot enough to turn bare feet bright red and a sun ready to burn the rest of my skin a similar color.

#

I sat in my pink-flowered swimsuit on the hot concrete of the driveway, my legs stretched out in front of me, my chipped pink toenails pointing to the sky. I was reflecting on the brilliant defeat the boys had just suffered in yet another water fight with the neighborhood girls.

Looking down the driveway to the road, I felt the ground beneath me rumble. My legs began to shake, the leaves on the trees trembled, and I could swear that a flowerpot tumbled over on my neighbor's front porch. The intense rattling increased with every passing second.

I got up and started to run, my bare feet smacking against the scalding pavement. I had to hide until I found an excuse. Something, anything, to get me out of it.

"Paige," I heard my mom call from the front door, "come inside. Your grandparents just pulled up."

"Rats," I whispered. Slowly, I turned around and walked back with my head down, looking at the pavement.

When I got to my driveway, I looked up and saw the familiar sight. It was a monster, a big white monster, complete with an "I Love Fishing" bumper sticker. The shadow it made almost covered the entire driveway. But the real problem sat behind the white monster. It looked harmless at first, but I had already spent too many boring afternoons in it this summer. It was a little red fishing boat, my grandpa and grandma's pride and joy.

I walked inside the house where my grandparents and my mom were standing around the island in the kitchen. I gave both of my grandparents a hug and proceeded to the cupboard for a glass.

"How 'bout some fishing, Paige?" my grandpa asked. "Your two brothers are raring to go."

This is what I'd been dreading. "I don't know, Grandpa. It's pretty hot out."

"It's never too hot to fish. I brought the boat and everything. It's all hitched up behind the RV. I know how much you love riding in the boat."

He was wrong. I hated that boat. I liked riding in boats when they were going fast. I liked riding in boats that I could water-ski behind. I'd even settle for tubing if skiing wasn't an option. But fishing boats hardly even moved.

"We'll have to buy you a new fishing pole first. Your mom said you lost your last one," said Grandpa.

I seemed to lose a lot of fishing poles, but my grandpa never minded. He would just take me to Target to buy another one.

In twenty minutes, I found myself walking into the mouth of the monster, complete with pink interior from the dirt-covered floor mats to the darker pink seats. Behind the seats nestled a small kitchenette, littered with what was surely last month's breakfast: two plates covered with syrup, an old waffle box, an empty carton of eggs, and a basket filled with rotten fruit. Across from the kitchenette stood the bathroom, which contributed to the monster's bad case of morning breath. Beyond this was a small bed, piled high with pink blankets, resembling a tongue that could lash out at any time and swallow me whole.

Hanging neatly on hooks above the kitchenette counter were Grandpa's hats, white with stains, like teeth that hadn't been brushed in a while. They all had sayings like "#1 Grandpa" and "King of the Sea." Before he sat down in the driver's seat, Grandpa plucked the nearest hat off a hook and put it on over his bald spot to avoid burning his head in the hot summer sun.

My grandpa maneuvered the large RV and boat out of our neighborhood, and in ten minutes, we were at Raccoon River, placing the red fishing boat in the water. I was going to borrow an extra pole that my grandpa kept "just in case." Great.

In minutes, all three of us kids had our lines in the water. The sweat running down my body was already stinging my eyes and turning the fake leather seat beneath me into a wet, slippery mess. The breeze that may have made the summer heat bearable was nonexistent on the small lake surrounded by tall trees. It was going to be a long afternoon.

#

Three hours later, everybody else had caught at least two fish. The boat was once again attached to the back of the RV, and we were on our way home, a waste of another Saturday afternoon.

"Wasn't that fun, kids?" asked my grandpa as he peeked back at us through the rear-view mirror.

My brothers both responded enthusiastically and then began arguing about who had caught the biggest fish. I continued to stare out of the RV window without answering Grandpa’s question.
 
#
 
DING.

The opening door drags me out of my memories, and I enter the hospital elevator and hit the number seven. I remember riding in this elevator a few times to visit my grandpa as he lay in the hospital. Usually, though, I chose to stay home when my family went to visit him. I always told my mom that I hated the smell and seeing all the sick people, but that wasn't completely true. I did hate the smell, but I could have gotten over that. The real reason I stayed home was because I wanted to watch television or play with my Barbies or American Girl dolls. My grandpa's sickness wasn't that pressing; I was too young to understand that he would not always be there. I was too young to understand that I needed to grab every minute I could with him before it was too late.

Regret was enough to pull me back to April of my sixth-grade year.

#

"Here, honey, we bought this for you," said my grandma, excitement in her eyes as she handed me a small pink bag with purple tissue paper.

"Thanks, Grandma. It's cute," I said, pulling out the ugliest purse I had ever seen. It was made from some kind of hard plastic with flowers on the front. I exchanged a look with my mother, and she silently nodded that we would send the purse to Goodwill along with the old clothes, toys, and books that I no longer used. I set the purse down on the coffee table and tried to hurry out of the room but couldn’t quite escape my grandpa's grasp as he pulled me onto his lap.

"Well, my doctor says I need surgery next week," said Grandpa. "Pretty routine, though. They're gonna do it in the morning, and the doctor said I'll be home by dark."

"Are you sure you shouldn't get a second opinion, Jim?" asked my dad. "I know some good doctors; it would be easy to get you an appointment."

"No, no. I've been going to Doc for years. I'll be fine," said my grandpa.

Later that afternoon, I yelled good-bye from the top of the stairs as my grandparents hugged my brothers. I didn't want to walk all the way down just to say good-bye when I would be seeing them again in a week or two.

The following Monday, my mom drove up to Boone to be with Grandma while my grandpa was in surgery. "I'll be home for supper, Paigey," she said. "We'll probably go out to eat, so get your homework done early."

But she wasn't home in time for supper. My grandpa had suffered a complication during surgery and was taken to Mercy Hospital. That is where he stayed for the last summer of his life.

#

Another ding as I landed on the seventh floor. The mirrors around the elevator showed my tan skin, blond disheveled hair, and muscular legs, but all I could see when I peered at my reflection was a monster. A selfish monster who could never put anyone else before herself. I lowered my head in disgust and quickly exited the elevator.

Unlike the receptionist's room on the first floor, this floor had sky-blue wallpaper with multicolored hot air balloons scattered throughout. I heard sounds of laughter and babies testing out their lungs in the distance; the noise grew louder as I turned the corner. How different this floor was from the one just two levels down, where the white walls matched the tile floors and the receptionist's desk was a dull gray. The intensive care unit, where my grandpa had stayed all summer, seemed decorated to remind families that their loved ones probably wouldn't make it. There were no flowers on that floor, only harsh fluorescent lights and the soft glow of television screens turned on in every room even though most patients weren't conscious enough to watch.

#

The phone call had come late at night from a nurse who said that my grandpa was fading fast. My brothers were already in bed, but my dad drove me to the hospital to be with Grandpa on his last night. My mom was already there.

"Lee, why did you bring her?" snapped my mom through her tears. "She's too young for this."

The truth is, my mom might have been right. Seeing my grandpa lying there in his hospital bed, almost as white as his sheets, is an image that I will always carry. But no matter how hard it is to think about the way he looked, it is even harder to picture all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins clustered around him, tears in the eyes of every single person. The room was dark, sterile, and even with so many people in it, lonely.

As I left the hospital the next morning with my parents, the sun was just coming up and the heat of another late July day was settling in. Maybe it was the heat or the sunrise or maybe I was just thinking about my grandpa, but as I walked to the car, I suddenly realized that I would never get to go on another fishing trip with him. In fact, I realized that I had spent most of his visits during the last year of his life trying to get out of fishing trips.

#

"Paige!" came the cry of my overjoyed aunt, now a grandma, as she bustled down the hallway.

"Hi," I said. "I had some trouble finding the room."

"Oh, well, it's right over here," she said, laughing. With her rosy cheeks and frazzled hair, Aunt Deb had surely been at the hospital since the morning before, but she didn't look at all tired.

As I walked into Stacy's crowded hospital room, I saw my relatives, so happy at having a new baby in the family. In that moment I realized that for years I had been carrying a large burden of guilt because of the time I'd missed with my grandpa. But that wasn't really what was important. The important thing was that I was here now and I had been there for my grandpa when he needed me the most. Whenever I have thought back to that night I watched him take his final breaths, I have felt that he was so lonely, but now I realize that that couldn't be farther from the truth. My grandpa died holding the hands of his wife and children, with a room full of people who loved him; not very many people are that lucky.