vacuous whites. In actuality, she never looked at anything,
the sounds were no more speech than wind moaning.
Julita, her mother, avoided the hospital, but one
evening, the family came to visit. Ana lay, unresponsive, an
occasional involuntary action causing both her mom and
daughter Tania to decipher awareness.
I left the room. Occasionally, Tania would call me into
the room insisting Ana was trying to say something. One
can handle only so much false hope. I continued pacing the
hallway when Tania came to me.
“It’s mommy,” she said, pulling me toward the door.
“She said she’s hungry.”
I gave her a look but returned to see Julita holding
Ana’s hand. She looked my way, forming a weak smile.
“Mami,” Tania asked, “You want something?”
6