Protecting My Grandmother at the End of the World

I just had a dream that was essentially apocalyptic, an event from which there is no turning back. Hope is miserable, it pushes us towards the exodus. Civilization is collapsing, and there is a general alert.

In this reality, my grandmother is alive, old, but alive. The two of us are alone in her apartment, attentive to the emergency; protecting her is my concern. Probably no one will come out of this alive, but my intention is for [person A] to suffer as little as possible from the stress and grief of the disaster.

I try to see things as rationally as possible and fall into pessimism. I can only see how to survive in the last few hours of life and keep my dignity. We only have each other. Out of love and compassion for her, I try to filter the information all around us so that she does

not suffer from anxiety. She is old, and these life events cannot be avoided.

The latest information suggests using electrodes.

My grandmother is willing to pay anything for them, but what she doesn’t realize is that in this type of situation, money cannot do anything. Since she only knows part of the situation, she pressures me to get her an electrode system. There are options, but right now only a doctor can make the final decision.

I have reached the limit between what I can and cannot do.

During the next fragment, I only remember the image of a dream in which I eat mushroom risotto at the foot of a mountain.

Lastly, another dream. I wake up in the morning connected to the electrodes in a hotel room. I see a small group of natural sponges cut into different sized cubes. The chambermaid left them, and I want to

keep them. I am not alone. My friends [person B] and [person C] come to visit me. I don’t have the necessary time that they deserve. They feel ignored and leave.

The same thing repeats itself. Now, it is [person D] and her son, who in the dream appears as a six-year-old named [person E]. I feel special affection for [person D], as she was the light of my childhood and her presence has kept me company throughout these 101 nights. I say goodbye and thank her. She is someone I wholeheartedly embrace; her friendship is crucial to me.

I keep that feeling from childhood intact. The love is mutual and shared. Separations are sad. I hope that this goodbye is only momentary and that on my next trip to Chile, perhaps some Christmas, I will see her again.

Considering how exhausted I am, I don’t think that I will go to Europe, or Chile, over Christmas. It is time to say goodbye. We hug repeatedly, and I thank her for being here.

[person F] arrives: “This is your cousin, [person F],” I say to [person D], ironically true. How I would love [person D] to stay, but she must go on tour. She has a “one-man-band” type of show and has a performance scheduled every other day.

Saying goodbye is not easy. We give each other one last tight hug.

Night 090