Marissa's Gold

“Hija, hold these,” Marissa’s mother said through withheld tears. She handed the girl an armful of marigolds. They would be used to decorate the grave of her father. Since he died in the hospital last week, it had been nothing but sequences of hysterical cries and silent sobs. Marissa didn’t think she had any tears left to give.

All the events of the last month felt like a blur. Marissa’s father was in the hospital with COVID for a long time. It was weeks. The doctors kept telling them that he was young. He had a chance. Then finally, miraculously, he got better. He was good enough to come home. Just with a little oxygen. Their prayers had been answered.

Two days after coming home, Marissa’s father had chest pain. It became a little harder for him to breathe. Marissa called 911 because she had the best English. The ambulance picked him up, and Marissa and her mother climbed in the back with him. It all happened so fast. His heart stopped beating. The paramedic pounded on his chest. Marissa couldn’t think straight with all the sirens and the beeping. She clutched her father’s hand while his body jolted up and down with the compressions. The paramedic pushed a medication to bring him back. They put pads on his chest and shocked him to life. His heartbeat returned. Marissa and her mother shared a horrified glance.

They followed him into the Emergency Department. He was lying motionless on the bed. A tube in his mouth provided breaths. The beeping on the monitor was the only indication that he was still alive. The Xray showed that there was a lot of air that accumulated on the outside of his lung, a place where there shouldn’t be air. It was why he had chest pain and suddenly couldn’t breathe. They inserted a large needle into the side of his chest and air forcefully escaped.

The doctor said, “He’s doing a little better, but we have to take him to the ICU.”

Marissa translated. Her mother just nodded.

“Unfortunately, you cannot visit him in the ICU.”

“Why? We are already here with him,” Marissa protested.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s still part of our protocol that we can’t have visitors for these patients.”

After translating, Marissa’s head fell. They returned home to her two younger sisters. Marissa tried to be strong for them, but they could see the fear etched into the lines of her face. The worst part was not knowing. Was it going to be several more weeks in the hospital? Or was he never coming home?

The next day, the family waited. They didn’t hear anything. Two mornings after they took him back to the hospital, they got a call. Marissa answered.

“Hello, this is Dr. Jacobs. Am I speaking with Marissa?”

“Yes.”

“I’m calling about your father. Unfortunately, he is not doing very well. We are using all the medications we have to keep him alive. However, based on his labs, we know that all of his organs are failing. He is alive right now, but we don’t think that he will make it for long. We want to talk about our next steps. We can either continue doing everything we possibly can to keep him alive, including our medications and chest compressions, with the likelihood that his heart will probably stop beating soon, or we can choose to make sure that he is very comfortable and not in any pain, so that he can pass peacefully.”

The doctor paused. Marissa pulled the phone from her ear. Her mother waited expectantly, but she already knew based on Marissa’s expression.

“Hija?”

Marissa explained. Then after a long silence, they agreed. “Dr. Jacobs?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t want him to be in pain.” Marissa felt the tightening in the back of her throat when she spoke the words.

“Okay thank you, Marissa. Normally, these patients can’t have visitors, but we will make an exception for you and your mother to come say goodbye.”

“What about my sisters?”

“I’m sorry. We can only let two of you come.”

Marissa and her mother left as quickly as they could for the hospital. She felt guilty that she could say goodbye but her sisters couldn’t. They were shuttled from the front door down the hall to the ICU. They had to wear masks, eye shields, and gowns. The tears soaked the mask and fogged the eye shield.

Finally, they were taken to his room. Her father didn’t even look like the same person, the father she knew. Everything was swollen: his eyes, his stomach, his legs. There were medications that continuously dripped into his veins. The breathing machine provided air every six seconds.

“Papa!” she called. “Papa!” she yelled louder. There was nothing. No flicker of his eyelids, no curve of his mouth into a smile, no squeeze of his fingers. Marissa realized then that he was already gone. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered. “I love you.” ____________________________________________________

Marissa twirled the marigold in her fingers so the petals spun perfectly around the flower’s center. Her mother was driving the car, and her two sisters were in the back. Round and around the marigold spun, becoming dizzyingly symmetrical. Marissa’s eyes grew heavy. She was so exhausted. Her peripheral vision became blurry. Yellow. Yellow. All she could see was yellow.

Marissa floated through the expanse of yellow. There was a small speck of black in front of her. It grew larger and larger, until she could no longer see the yellow. She tried to run but was stuck in the tarry black. Her legs couldn’t move. She screamed for help. Where was the marigold? It wasn’t in her hands anymore. She waded through what she realized was mud, dense and wet.

“Papa, help me!” Marissa called.

Suddenly a hand with claw-like fingers pierced through the mud. The rest of her body followed with slow writhing movements. The woman had long black hair that nearly reached her feet. Her eyes were completely black, not even a sliver of the white sclera hugging the corners. She smelled like she was rotting, like leaves left at the bottom of the pile for too long.

“Who are you?” Marissa stammered.

“I am the Godmother of Death.” The woman’s voice was raspy.

“Did you take my father? Is he with you?”

“Your father is with me now, yes.”

“Can I see him? Please?”

“You will learn to see him in new ways,” the woman hummed.

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“He is in the very mud you are wading through. He is the reason that pretty flower over there can grow.”

Marissa followed the curve of the woman’s clawed finger and saw the most radiant yellow flower. “The marigold,” she whispered.

Marissa moved through the heavy mud, pushing it aside with her arms. Finally, she made it to the bright spot of yellow. The petals were perfectly symmetrical. She noticed several seeds that fell into the mud. She picked them up and then pulled at the stem. At first, there was resistance. It was firmly rooted. With a final tug, the flower gave way into the hands of the girl.

When Marissa opened her eyes to blue sky and a slight breeze, she way lying in the grass with the marigold in her hand. She sat up and noticed mud staining the bottom of her dress. She opened her palm. The marigold seeds were still there. For the first time in a month, she felt calm.

“Hija, what are you doing?” Her mother called. “Come say your prayer.”

Marissa ran to the burial. Then she knelt to the ground and began digging. She planted the seeds and scraped the mud from her hands to cover them. “Papa, thank you so much for everything you have given me. I remember you used to bring me these flowers and say, ‘these are Marissa’s gold.’ Now I’m returning them to you. I know you’ll continue to help them grow, to help me grow. I am so lucky to have a father like you.”

The last of Marissa’s tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. They fell from her cheeks down to the ground. She pressed them into the Earth, silently praying for the Godmother of Death to take care of him.