Question
Colors of Healing
The nurses pushed me in my wheelchair toward freedom. Eleven weeks in the hospital had felt longer than an eternity.
“You’re a miracle, Mrs. Oliver. Just take it easy once you go home. Your body still needs time to recuperate,” Jessa instructed as I looked away from her sickly blue scrubs. Two colors I would never miss again were blue and white, shades that used to be my favorites.
My son, Garrett, was waiting at the curb to drive me home. I noticed the silver flecks in his hair in the noonday light, and they surprised me. At 77, I knew that I was old, but I couldn’t imagine the same fate for the sticky-faced little boy who had been obsessed with model airplanes and epic games of Monopoly.
Arriving at my first-floor apartment, I let myself out of the car before Garrett could come around to help me.
“Mom,” he protested. “Don’t show off.”
I laughed. “Yes, doctor. Just head on home, sweetheart; I should probably get some rest.”
Garrett hugged me and then drove away slowly, looking back at me with uncertainty etched into every line of his face. Opening the door to my apartment, I held my breath, not expecting the stale odor that permeated the air. Garrett had been coming by once a week to take in my mail, but apparently that wasn’t enough to stop the place from becoming stuffier than a hospital room without air conditioning in August.
My only houseplant had died in my absence, withering and drying up into a cracked brown mess. The floors needed vacuuming, and just about every shelf screamed for a good dusting, but I didn’t have the will to clean. The phone rang. I answered and heard the comforting voice of my oldest friend, Thelma.
“Etta, I’m so glad that you’re home!” Thelma gushed as I giggled, both of us transported to our teenage years long before terms like “congestive heart failure” and “overactive thyroid” meant anything.
The grandfather clock struck one, ringing in my ears and forcing me once again to acknowledge the passing of time. “Thelma, what are you doing next weekend?”
Thelma chuckled. “The same thing I did last weekend: watching Netflix and puttering in the rose garden.”
“I’ve got plans for us,” I said mysteriously.
The following weekend, Thelma arrived at my doorstep, and I was glad to see that she was dressed for adventure. She wore sweatpants, a cotton top, gray socks, and sneakers. Handing her a straw hat to complete the outdoorsy outfit, I sprung out of the apartment and into the open air.
“Shall I drive?” I teased as she obliged me and handed me the key to her car.
“If I didn’t know you so well, I’d ask where we’re going,” Thelma quipped.
“But you do know me, so you know I wouldn’t tell you anyway!” I rejoined, loving the feeling of being in the driver’s seat. I hadn’t driven in almost two years, choosing not to replace my ancient Mitsubishi when it finally conked out, but I didn’t remind Thelma of that little detail.
I was grateful that Thelma didn’t ask me any questions, even after we had been on the road for almost three hours. It was early afternoon by the time we arrived at our destination, right around the time that the grandfather clock would be striking one. I was glad I wasn’t home to hear it.
“Oh, I’ve never been here before!” Thelma exclaimed as I parked under a pine tree at the nature preserve.
“We’re going for a hike,” I announced as Thelma’s eyes widened, but she refrained from voicing her worries.
But is your heart strong enough for a hike? I could hear the unspoken question just as surely as though she had shouted it in my ear.
I breathed in the forest air. All my senses were hungering for my natural surroundings, so different from the monochrome walls and bed sheets of the hospital. Vivid green foliage and violet flora ignited my world. I led Thelma up a steep hill that made both of us catch our breath. I looked over my shoulder at my friend, and she offered me a serene smile. She wordlessly revealed her thoughts: I’ll go wherever you go.
The nurses pushed me in my wheelchair toward freedom. Eleven weeks in the hospital had felt longer than an eternity.
“You’re a miracle, Mrs. Oliver. Just take it easy once you go home. Your body still needs time to recuperate,” Jessa instructed as I looked away from her sickly blue scrubs. Two colors I would never miss again were blue and white, shades that used to be my favorites.
My son, Garrett, was waiting at the curb to drive me home. I noticed the silver flecks in his hair in the noonday light, and they surprised me. At 77, I knew that I was old, but I couldn’t imagine the same fate for the sticky-faced little boy who had been obsessed with model airplanes and epic games of Monopoly.
Arriving at my first-floor apartment, I let myself out of the car before Garrett could come around to help me.
“Mom,” he protested. “Don’t show off.”
I laughed. “Yes, doctor. Just head on home, sweetheart; I should probably get some rest.”
Garrett hugged me and then drove away slowly, looking back at me with uncertainty etched into every line of his face. Opening the door to my apartment, I held my breath, not expecting the stale odor that permeated the air. Garrett had been coming by once a week to take in my mail, but apparently that wasn’t enough to stop the place from becoming stuffier than a hospital room without air conditioning in August.
My only houseplant had died in my absence, withering and drying up into a cracked brown mess. The floors needed vacuuming, and just about every shelf screamed for a good dusting, but I didn’t have the will to clean. The phone rang. I answered and heard the comforting voice of my oldest friend, Thelma.
“Etta, I’m so glad that you’re home!” Thelma gushed as I giggled, both of us transported to our teenage years long before terms like “congestive heart failure” and “overactive thyroid” meant anything.
The grandfather clock struck one, ringing in my ears and forcing me once again to acknowledge the passing of time. “Thelma, what are you doing next weekend?”
Thelma chuckled. “The same thing I did last weekend: watching Netflix and puttering in the rose garden.”
“I’ve got plans for us,” I said mysteriously.
The following weekend, Thelma arrived at my doorstep, and I was glad to see that she was dressed for adventure. She wore sweatpants, a cotton top, gray socks, and sneakers. Handing her a straw hat to complete the outdoorsy outfit, I sprung out of the apartment and into the open air.
“Shall I drive?” I teased as she obliged me and handed me the key to her car.
“If I didn’t know you so well, I’d ask where we’re going,” Thelma quipped.
“But you do know me, so you know I wouldn’t tell you anyway!” I rejoined, loving the feeling of being in the driver’s seat. I hadn’t driven in almost two years, choosing not to replace my ancient Mitsubishi when it finally conked out, but I didn’t remind Thelma of that little detail.
I was grateful that Thelma didn’t ask me any questions, even after we had been on the road for almost three hours. It was early afternoon by the time we arrived at our destination, right around the time that the grandfather clock would be striking one. I was glad I wasn’t home to hear it.
“Oh, I’ve never been here before!” Thelma exclaimed as I parked under a pine tree at the nature preserve.
“We’re going for a hike,” I announced as Thelma’s eyes widened, but she refrained from voicing her worries.
But is your heart strong enough for a hike? I could hear the unspoken question just as surely as though she had shouted it in my ear.
I breathed in the forest air. All my senses were hungering for my natural surroundings, so different from the monochrome walls and bed sheets of the hospital. Vivid green foliage and violet flora ignited my world. I led Thelma up a steep hill that made both of us catch our breath. I looked over my shoulder at my friend, and she offered me a serene smile. She wordlessly revealed her thoughts: I’ll go wherever you go.
Answers
Answer
conflicts in the passage? Select all that apply.
Etta has an illness she had to be hospitalized for.
It is raining and Etta cannot go hiking.
Etta and Thelma have a disagreement.
Etta is sad that she is growing old.
Etta has an illness she had to be hospitalized for.
It is raining and Etta cannot go hiking.
Etta and Thelma have a disagreement.
Etta is sad that she is growing old.
Answered by
GPT 3.5
We reached the summit, and I felt a sense of accomplishment wash over me. The view was breathtaking, with the sun casting a golden glow over the treetops. Thelma reached for my hand, and we stood there together, reveling in the moment of peace and serenity.
As we made our way back down the trail, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the colors of healing that surrounded me. The vibrant shades of green and purple had brought new life and energy to my tired body and spirit. I knew that this day was just the beginning of my journey toward full recovery.
Back at the car, Thelma turned to me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Etta. Thank you for reminding me of the beauty and joy that this world has to offer.”
I smiled at her, feeling a deep sense of contentment and peace. “No, Thelma. Thank you for being my constant companion on this healing journey. With you by my side, I know that anything is possible.”
And as we drove back home, I knew that the colors of healing would continue to surround me, filling my days with hope, joy, and love. Life was a beautiful tapestry of colors, and I was ready to embrace every shade with open arms.
As we made our way back down the trail, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the colors of healing that surrounded me. The vibrant shades of green and purple had brought new life and energy to my tired body and spirit. I knew that this day was just the beginning of my journey toward full recovery.
Back at the car, Thelma turned to me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Etta. Thank you for reminding me of the beauty and joy that this world has to offer.”
I smiled at her, feeling a deep sense of contentment and peace. “No, Thelma. Thank you for being my constant companion on this healing journey. With you by my side, I know that anything is possible.”
And as we drove back home, I knew that the colors of healing would continue to surround me, filling my days with hope, joy, and love. Life was a beautiful tapestry of colors, and I was ready to embrace every shade with open arms.
Answered by
GPT 3.5
- Etta has an illness she had to be hospitalized for.
- Etta is sad that she is growing old.
- Etta is sad that she is growing old.
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