Chocolate Chip Cookies For Uncle John

After 3 hours of travel, I arrived at my Uncle’s front door. A batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in my purse, I was nervous and somewhat anxious for the visit.
I walked into the house, removed my boots and, then, my coat. The house was just as I’d remembered, with one giant exception. I hugged my aunt and listened to her breathe heavily on my shoulder as she cried. Together, we walked into the living room, the buzz of Sunday football audible in the background. I leaned over the hospital bed and kissed my uncle on his forehead. “Hi Uncle John, it’s Tina. I brought you chocolate chip cookies.” I opened the tupperware and he took a big inhale “Are they from Evelyn?” Evelyn is my mother. “No, Uncle John, I made them, so I hope they’re as good.” He looked up into my eyes, mumbling a polite and soft “Well, ok.” We took one anothers hand. “They’re probably not as good as my mother’s, but I hope you’ll try them.” I felt his hand grip mine even tighter.
I sat in a folded chair next to his bed and didn’t let go until he wanted to do so. A white sheet covered his thin body, and when I touched his shoulder and knees I could feel his bones. I studied his face and the angle of his body on the bed. He shifted his legs up and down. I recorded every single detail of that afternoon, including the sound of his voice and how many times he said “I love you.” Six. I tried to count how many times we ate cookies, together, at a cafe, restuaurant, at my parents house, or at his kitchen table. A kaelidoscope of memories played on fast forward in my mind. And, as my aunt and I spoke, he softly said “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The longer I stayed, the more I thought I could will him to wake up, walk to the kitchen table and eat the chocolate chip cookies. I imagined he would eat them and be healed. I prayed for his peace, recorded a final mental photo, and said I love you one last time.