I sat in the waiting room, the walls covered in ugly flower paper, people moaning because god forbid they get a stomach ache and have to be in the hospital. Today, I am waiting not for the pathetic but for the strong. She has been here maybe a day or two and knew about the surgery that would hopefully make her knee feel better. She hated being a cripple, hated being invalid to life. She doesn’t want to go if she can get the most out of life. Her skin, old and gnarled to the naked eye, would appear beautiful to her. She is kind to people and keeps relationships alive. She is, in fact my grandmother. The only one I’ll ever have, because my mother’s mother left this world too soon. My hands are clammy, I can’t really think. She would tell me not to worry, but I do anyway. There are people here who never raised 5 boys, 2 being family that would have otherwise ended up in the foster system. There are people in this bland hospital who don’t know what it was like to grow up in a different time, and see the world differently. She is here, in one of these stark white rooms, though I can’t remember which one. This innocent woman had to be here today because her knee caused her spasms of pain, not because oh she needed some useless procedure done. No. Not my grandmother. She is stronger than those that are pompous and silly, or at least I believe she is. She will come out when she’s ready, and not a moment before. My grandfather, an ornery old man, does not want this to happen I sense it. Even though he says stupid things and annoys the hell out of my mother, he is still family. And his wife is still in the hospital. Often, I think that if I could do one thing for my grandmother it would be to turn back time so that she could be young again and pain free. If only I could, If only she didn’t have to be here. The clock ticks, and time marches on. A symbol of life, in this dreary old hospital. And there is my grandmother, walker in her feeble hands.