Stroke
Stroke
“Are you done picking on me, yet?” A sarcastic remark on my behalf.
“What?! Is that all you think I do is pick on you?” Yes.
“No,” I sighed, stomping through the gray-carpeted living room and into my bedroom.
Why won’t my mom just kick him out already? They aren’t in love anymore, so what is the point in trying to stay together? We would be able to fend for ourselves just fine without him living with us. He hasn’t supported our family since before the day I was born. In and out of jobs every six weeks-it is getting ridiculous. He is always getting fired or quitting. When will it all end?
I slammed the door shut and ran to my bed. The tears poured out of my angry, red eyes and down my currently purplish face like a waterfall. Nothing had been the same since we moved here a few years before. No one was happy anymore and anytime someone smiled, it was just another pathetic excuse to make the light a little brighter. If only those smiles were not so fake. Anyone could see right through them, so why even bother forcing something that doesn’t feel…real.
I felt like screaming, but I couldn’t find the voice that was lodged deep inside my throat. For the time being, it was cracked and broken. I could feel my eyes growing puffier, which just caused me embarrassment although nobody was around. Shoving my face into my pillow, I was overwhelmed with the sadness that was all to familiar. It was the indistinguishable sadness I had felt every night for the last five years.
It wasn’t worth trying to impress him anymore. He would just end up angry in some way. He always found something about me to pick on, whether it was my mood, my clothes, my weight. He never had anything nice to say anymore. He never called me pretty and he never called me smart. I am apparently the irresponsible daughter that dresses like a fool and does not care about anyone else’s feelings.
I heard my bedroom door leisurely slide open, but I felt no need to lift my head from its current position on my pillow. The slight creaks of the floor gave away the light footsteps being made. The door was shut in a discreet manner; whoever it was must have thought I was asleep.
I felt a weight slowly sink into the side of my bed. A warm, comforting hand rested on the small of my back. Rather than stiffening my body, I casually loosened up.
“Erin, honey?” The soothing voice obligated me to lifted my heavy head from the pillow.
“Mom?”
“Are you alright?” she asked.
I flipped over onto my back and squinted my eyes, “Make him leave.”
“What?”
“Make him leave. I want him out of this house, out of my life-out of our life,” I begged.
She gave me a sympathetic gaze as she began rubbing my stomach, “I know, I know. But I can’t just-”
“Yes, you can!” I bellowed.
“Erin, calm down,” mom adjured. “I can’t just kick your father out. I know he keeps attacking you, but-”
I gave her a stern look, “But what, mom? Are you just going to let him keep casting down my self-esteem? He’s the reason why I can’t stay confident!”
Her hand quit caressing my quivering stomach as she sighed, “I’m sorry your father is such an asshole.”
She shook her head and briskly stood up. I stared at her as she exited my room. I knew she understood where I was coming from and I was absolutely sure that she wanted him gone just as much as I did. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we were scared of what my dad would do if he were kicked out.
With that final thought, I turned off my light and quickly fell into a light slumber. I was not eager for school the next day.
A loud thud that came from my parents’ bedroom caused my eyes to fly open. My heart raced for a minute or two before my subconscious mind finally took back over. It was too late in the night for anything to matter. I was worn out and I could not find a reason to care. I would find out what happened the next day.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I groaned as I shut off my alarm. I looked at the clock-6 AM. Mondays were never good for me. They just meant that it was going to be long five days filled with homework and waking up early. Something was different about this Monday, though. Something surely did not feel right.
I forced myself out of bed and into the bathroom to take a shower. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mom running from her bedroom and through the living room. I did not think anything of it. She probably just woke up late for work again.
I shut the door behind me and flipped on the light switch. I turned on the shower to give the water a minute to warm up as I undressed. After quickly brushing my teeth, I jumped into the shower and let the warm water run down my body. My muscles relaxed and I began to truly awaken as the minutes passed. Showering was perhaps the best stress-relieving method I had, aside from sleeping. It was a shame that I only took them in the morning.
I leaped out of the bathtub and wrapped a towel around my wet, shivering body after finishing my daily ritual. My teeth chattered as I dried myself off from head to toe. Walking over to the sink, I grabbed my bar of soap and rubbed in between my hands. I massaged my face with the suds in a circular motion and then rinsed it with cold water. Once I patted my face dry, I brushed my teeth for the final time.
Then, I heard a soft knocking on the door.
I unlocked it and opened it to come face to face with my grandmother. What was she doing awake this early in the morning? She appeared to be panic stricken. Her eyes were dull and filled with tears dying to come out. I gave her a look of confusion as I stood there in just a towel.
“Erin,” her voice cracked, “an ambulance is here for your father. He can’t walk.”
“What?” I turned my head to glance into the hallway. A gurney was standing in front of my parents’ closed bedroom door.
“Hurry, get into your room and get dressed,” she said.
I looked at her and nodded my head. I shut off the lights and sprinted into my room. As I threw on my clothes, thoughts swirled like a tornado around my mind. I was beginning to panic. I hastily brushed my hair and threw it into a ponytail. Slipping on a pair of shoes, I made my way out the door and saw my father strapped down onto the gurney. They were taking him away.
My mom was holding the front door open for the medical squad. The gurney was almost to large to fit through the doorway. She saw me and looked at me with worry. It was apparent that nobody was aware what was happening.
“Hello, this is Lynn Weishuhn, Erin Weishuhn’s mother,” she spoke into the phone. “Erin won’t be going to school today, there’s been a family emergency. Alright, thank you.” She hung up the phone and turned to face me. “You might want to give Meghan a call and let her know that you won’t need a ride to school.”
I agreed and went off to my room to call her. I picked up my cell phone and dialed her number.
“Hello?” A weary voice answered.
“Hey Meghan, it’s Erin,” I greeted.
“Oh, hey Erin. What’s up?” she seemed a bit more awake now.
“Nothing…” I muttered. “Um, I just wanted to call and let you know that I won’t be going to school today. My dad was just taken to the hospital.”
“Is he alright?” Meghan asked.
I sighed, “I’m not sure. All I know is that he can’t walk.” I paused. “Listen, I have to get going. We’re heading to the hospital in a minute.”
“Oh, okay, sweetheart,” she attempted to be comforting. “Call me later tonight and let me know what’s happening.”
“Okay,” I said impatiently, waiting to finally hang up the phone. “I’ll talk to you later, bye.”
“Bye.”
I closed my phone and walked back into the kitchen. My grandma and mom were sitting at the table waiting for me.
“So, when are we leaving?” I asked.
“Right now,” mom stated, standing up from her chair and walking towards the garage door. My grandma and I followed suite.
We hopped into my mom’s car and pulled out of the garage. It was only 7 AM. I could tell it was going to be a long day.
The white walls, the disinfectant stench, the loud, obnoxious beeping…it all drove me crazy. I could sense the sickness and the death as we walked through the plain, bleach-white hallways. Every room held a patient bedridden on their cots, pale and ill. The coughs and cries made me cringe. How could anyone stand to work in a place like this? Everything was just so negative and sad. The waiting rooms were not even comforting. The magazines and the television talk shows and sitcoms that were left on throughout the day were dull and boring, causing anyone reading or watching to fall into a trance.
Mom walked up to the counter-grandma and I stood a few feet behind her.
The woman working behind the desk glanced up at my mom, “Hello, may I help you?”
“Yes,” she answered, “My husband was brought in this morning by ambulance because he couldn’t walk. What room is he in?”
“Douglas Weishuhn?” The woman asked.
“Yes.”
She sighed, “He is in room B302 on the second floor, but he is currently having tests run on him and he will be having an MRI done here soon.” She pointed to the forest green, uncomfortable-looking chairs in the waiting room. “If you could just wait a few minutes, a doctor will be right out with you.”
An unsure smile was plastered across my mother’s face, “Thank you.”
The three of us marched over to the seats in front of the television screen. Neither mom nor grandma said a word as we sat down. We were not sure how long we would be waiting, whether it be minutes or hours. Though, one thing I was absolute sure - the chairs were indeed uncomfortable.
Hours. It had been hours. Not minutes, but hours. The woman behind the desk could obviously not tell time. We should have been able to speak to a doctor by now, especially after waiting for three hours in those ugly, green chairs. I felt so jaded from watching insipid talk shows and humorless sitcoms all morning. I yearned to find out what was wrong with my father. That was not much to ask for.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Maur,” a deep voice came from beside my mom. We all turned our heads to face the tall, middle-aged man in the white overcoat looking at us over his glasses. He had dark gray hair and was remarkably tan, although his age was apparent as a result of the small quantity of wrinkles on his face. Holding a clip board in one hand, he went to shake my mom’s hand with the other.
“I’m Lynn Weishuhn,” she said politely.
“Douglas’ wife, I presume?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” mom answered, “and this is my daughter, Erin.” She gestured to me and I reached over to shake his hand. “…and this is my mom, Evelyn.”
“I’m terribly sorry for the long wait,” Dr. Maur apologized, “it had to be agonizing to wait this long without being able to talk to anyone.”
“It certainly was,” mom said. “What exactly is going on with my husband?”
The doctor gave us a look of pity, “If you would please follow me, I will explain.”
We nodded and stood up from our chairs. I was relieved to finally be able to walk around instead of sitting in the cramped waiting room. Although I was relieved, I was still worried about my dad and whether or not he would be okay.
“Nurses have been constantly in and out of his room all morning taking blood for testing reasons,” Dr. Maur began to explain as we walked through the bland hallways. “He has been vomiting every half hour or so and his liver is currently inflamed. After the first two hours of blood working, we had figured out that the cause of his vomiting and the inflamed liver was due to his skyrocketing ammonia level. I provided him with medicine that would calm down the vomiting and the nurses hooked him up to an IV transmitter so we could get some fluid pumping through his body. Dehydration is the last thing we want to occur to your husband.”
My mom agreed and continued to listen to the doctor’s long explanation about my dad. We came across an elevator and he pressed the arrow button pointing upwards. The doors opened and the four of us stepped into the small hoist. Pushing down on the 2 button, Dr. Maur carried on talking. I could not bare to intently listen to him. Nothing he said made any sense to me. His large vocabulary consisted of words I had not even been aware of existing and they caught me off guard. I drowned out his constant speaking until one word I recognized hit me like a ton of bricks.
Stroke.
“We had a neurologist come in from Springfield to do Douglas’ MRI,” Dr. Maur said. “After examining the results for the last hour, we have come to the conclusion that he has experienced a stroke in the area of his cerebellum. The cerebellum is the bottom section in the back of the brain, at the tip of the brainstem. It was not any ordinary stroke. It was a bleeding one and it managed to rid your husband of some of his main motor skills such as walking and writing. His speech is also slurred and he can not sit up without falling over.”
Mom gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. Tears were forming in the ducts of her eyes. I had never seen such a reaction as this come from my mom before. I wrapped my arms around her to give her a hug. Grandma just stood still, as if in shock.
By then we had reached our destination: room B302 - dad’s room.
“Please,” mom’s voice cracked, “tell me my husband will be alright.”
Dr. Maur sighed and gave us a soft, sympathetic look. Lightly shaking his head, he answered, “I’m afraid not. The damage caused on Douglas’ brain is too serious and can not be helped.”
Mom burst into tears of sorrow and I felt my eyes swell up with the same sadness. My knees began to wobble and I felt like crumbling to the hard, tiled floor. Grandma reached out to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. If she thought that a hand was going to comfort me, she was mistaken.
I sniffed, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. I gazed up at the doctor with disappointed, puffy eyes and asked him a simple question, “Can we see him?”
Dr. Maur nodded his head and reached to turn the knob on the blank, white door. The door slowly slid open and I was met with the vision that I truly did not want to see.
My dad was strapped down to his deathbed with wires attached to every bit of his body. They had put him on oxygen and a heart monitor was working to help the nurses keep a close watch on his heart rate. I never thought I would ever see my father like this. He was so lifeless. He was a vegetable.
I sprinted over to the chair beside his cot and sat down. They were just as uncomfortable as the ones back in the waiting room, but I didn’t care. I strained to grab his hand. I gasped at the chill that ran down my spine. I did not expect his hand to be so cold.
The tears were coming back. I tried to keep the salty wetness from encompassing my face, but I did not succeed. I had to let them fall. It was the only way I could accept what was wrong. It was the only closure I would be able to get.
Mom and grandma stood behind me, their quivering hands roosting on my sunken shoulders. They felt as much fear and disbelief as I did. Nothing at all could assuage us now.
I never thought this day would come so early in my teenage years. As much as dad had picked on and criticized me, I still loved him. I had to figure that out the hard way. I was not ready to let him go. I had so much left to experience in my life and I wanted him to be there. Who would be there to teach me what was right and wrong? Who would be there to give me advice when I had no one else to turn to? Who would walk down the aisle with me on my wedding day to give me up to another man? More importantly, who would my mom have? She is going to have to live without the man she fell in love with and I was going to have to live without one of my greatest friends.
My lips trembled as I tried to find my voice, “Daddy.” His eyes were loosely shut, but they budge. “If you can here me, I want to…I want…” I struggled to speak. “I’m sorry, daddy. I’m sorry for everything I ever said or ever did to hurt you. I know you have always looked out for what was best for me and I wish that I would have figured that out before now.”
I could feel my mother’s hand squeeze my shoulder more tight than before. Crying harder, I tried to continue on with my shaky, squeaking voice.
“I’m going to miss you so much, daddy. I’m sorry,” I bowed my head in shame. “Daddy, I love you. Please don’t forget that when you leave. I, I lo- I love y-you.”
I felt his chilling hand lightly constrict my own. My head jolted up and saw his face turned to mine, his eyes almost too weak to fully open. My mouth slightly dropped and I was at a loss for words. My mom and grandma did not say a word.
And in that final moment, with his final breath, before he closed his eyes for the very last time, he spoke his four concluding words…
“I love you, too.”
So long, this is good-bye.
Maybe we’ll meet again in another life.
Like strangers passing by,
Maybe we’ll see clearly in a different light.
“What?! Is that all you think I do is pick on you?” Yes.
“No,” I sighed, stomping through the gray-carpeted living room and into my bedroom.
Why won’t my mom just kick him out already? They aren’t in love anymore, so what is the point in trying to stay together? We would be able to fend for ourselves just fine without him living with us. He hasn’t supported our family since before the day I was born. In and out of jobs every six weeks-it is getting ridiculous. He is always getting fired or quitting. When will it all end?
I slammed the door shut and ran to my bed. The tears poured out of my angry, red eyes and down my currently purplish face like a waterfall. Nothing had been the same since we moved here a few years before. No one was happy anymore and anytime someone smiled, it was just another pathetic excuse to make the light a little brighter. If only those smiles were not so fake. Anyone could see right through them, so why even bother forcing something that doesn’t feel…real.
I felt like screaming, but I couldn’t find the voice that was lodged deep inside my throat. For the time being, it was cracked and broken. I could feel my eyes growing puffier, which just caused me embarrassment although nobody was around. Shoving my face into my pillow, I was overwhelmed with the sadness that was all to familiar. It was the indistinguishable sadness I had felt every night for the last five years.
It wasn’t worth trying to impress him anymore. He would just end up angry in some way. He always found something about me to pick on, whether it was my mood, my clothes, my weight. He never had anything nice to say anymore. He never called me pretty and he never called me smart. I am apparently the irresponsible daughter that dresses like a fool and does not care about anyone else’s feelings.
I heard my bedroom door leisurely slide open, but I felt no need to lift my head from its current position on my pillow. The slight creaks of the floor gave away the light footsteps being made. The door was shut in a discreet manner; whoever it was must have thought I was asleep.
I felt a weight slowly sink into the side of my bed. A warm, comforting hand rested on the small of my back. Rather than stiffening my body, I casually loosened up.
“Erin, honey?” The soothing voice obligated me to lifted my heavy head from the pillow.
“Mom?”
“Are you alright?” she asked.
I flipped over onto my back and squinted my eyes, “Make him leave.”
“What?”
“Make him leave. I want him out of this house, out of my life-out of our life,” I begged.
She gave me a sympathetic gaze as she began rubbing my stomach, “I know, I know. But I can’t just-”
“Yes, you can!” I bellowed.
“Erin, calm down,” mom adjured. “I can’t just kick your father out. I know he keeps attacking you, but-”
I gave her a stern look, “But what, mom? Are you just going to let him keep casting down my self-esteem? He’s the reason why I can’t stay confident!”
Her hand quit caressing my quivering stomach as she sighed, “I’m sorry your father is such an asshole.”
She shook her head and briskly stood up. I stared at her as she exited my room. I knew she understood where I was coming from and I was absolutely sure that she wanted him gone just as much as I did. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we were scared of what my dad would do if he were kicked out.
With that final thought, I turned off my light and quickly fell into a light slumber. I was not eager for school the next day.
A loud thud that came from my parents’ bedroom caused my eyes to fly open. My heart raced for a minute or two before my subconscious mind finally took back over. It was too late in the night for anything to matter. I was worn out and I could not find a reason to care. I would find out what happened the next day.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I groaned as I shut off my alarm. I looked at the clock-6 AM. Mondays were never good for me. They just meant that it was going to be long five days filled with homework and waking up early. Something was different about this Monday, though. Something surely did not feel right.
I forced myself out of bed and into the bathroom to take a shower. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mom running from her bedroom and through the living room. I did not think anything of it. She probably just woke up late for work again.
I shut the door behind me and flipped on the light switch. I turned on the shower to give the water a minute to warm up as I undressed. After quickly brushing my teeth, I jumped into the shower and let the warm water run down my body. My muscles relaxed and I began to truly awaken as the minutes passed. Showering was perhaps the best stress-relieving method I had, aside from sleeping. It was a shame that I only took them in the morning.
I leaped out of the bathtub and wrapped a towel around my wet, shivering body after finishing my daily ritual. My teeth chattered as I dried myself off from head to toe. Walking over to the sink, I grabbed my bar of soap and rubbed in between my hands. I massaged my face with the suds in a circular motion and then rinsed it with cold water. Once I patted my face dry, I brushed my teeth for the final time.
Then, I heard a soft knocking on the door.
I unlocked it and opened it to come face to face with my grandmother. What was she doing awake this early in the morning? She appeared to be panic stricken. Her eyes were dull and filled with tears dying to come out. I gave her a look of confusion as I stood there in just a towel.
“Erin,” her voice cracked, “an ambulance is here for your father. He can’t walk.”
“What?” I turned my head to glance into the hallway. A gurney was standing in front of my parents’ closed bedroom door.
“Hurry, get into your room and get dressed,” she said.
I looked at her and nodded my head. I shut off the lights and sprinted into my room. As I threw on my clothes, thoughts swirled like a tornado around my mind. I was beginning to panic. I hastily brushed my hair and threw it into a ponytail. Slipping on a pair of shoes, I made my way out the door and saw my father strapped down onto the gurney. They were taking him away.
My mom was holding the front door open for the medical squad. The gurney was almost to large to fit through the doorway. She saw me and looked at me with worry. It was apparent that nobody was aware what was happening.
“Hello, this is Lynn Weishuhn, Erin Weishuhn’s mother,” she spoke into the phone. “Erin won’t be going to school today, there’s been a family emergency. Alright, thank you.” She hung up the phone and turned to face me. “You might want to give Meghan a call and let her know that you won’t need a ride to school.”
I agreed and went off to my room to call her. I picked up my cell phone and dialed her number.
“Hello?” A weary voice answered.
“Hey Meghan, it’s Erin,” I greeted.
“Oh, hey Erin. What’s up?” she seemed a bit more awake now.
“Nothing…” I muttered. “Um, I just wanted to call and let you know that I won’t be going to school today. My dad was just taken to the hospital.”
“Is he alright?” Meghan asked.
I sighed, “I’m not sure. All I know is that he can’t walk.” I paused. “Listen, I have to get going. We’re heading to the hospital in a minute.”
“Oh, okay, sweetheart,” she attempted to be comforting. “Call me later tonight and let me know what’s happening.”
“Okay,” I said impatiently, waiting to finally hang up the phone. “I’ll talk to you later, bye.”
“Bye.”
I closed my phone and walked back into the kitchen. My grandma and mom were sitting at the table waiting for me.
“So, when are we leaving?” I asked.
“Right now,” mom stated, standing up from her chair and walking towards the garage door. My grandma and I followed suite.
We hopped into my mom’s car and pulled out of the garage. It was only 7 AM. I could tell it was going to be a long day.
The white walls, the disinfectant stench, the loud, obnoxious beeping…it all drove me crazy. I could sense the sickness and the death as we walked through the plain, bleach-white hallways. Every room held a patient bedridden on their cots, pale and ill. The coughs and cries made me cringe. How could anyone stand to work in a place like this? Everything was just so negative and sad. The waiting rooms were not even comforting. The magazines and the television talk shows and sitcoms that were left on throughout the day were dull and boring, causing anyone reading or watching to fall into a trance.
Mom walked up to the counter-grandma and I stood a few feet behind her.
The woman working behind the desk glanced up at my mom, “Hello, may I help you?”
“Yes,” she answered, “My husband was brought in this morning by ambulance because he couldn’t walk. What room is he in?”
“Douglas Weishuhn?” The woman asked.
“Yes.”
She sighed, “He is in room B302 on the second floor, but he is currently having tests run on him and he will be having an MRI done here soon.” She pointed to the forest green, uncomfortable-looking chairs in the waiting room. “If you could just wait a few minutes, a doctor will be right out with you.”
An unsure smile was plastered across my mother’s face, “Thank you.”
The three of us marched over to the seats in front of the television screen. Neither mom nor grandma said a word as we sat down. We were not sure how long we would be waiting, whether it be minutes or hours. Though, one thing I was absolute sure - the chairs were indeed uncomfortable.
Hours. It had been hours. Not minutes, but hours. The woman behind the desk could obviously not tell time. We should have been able to speak to a doctor by now, especially after waiting for three hours in those ugly, green chairs. I felt so jaded from watching insipid talk shows and humorless sitcoms all morning. I yearned to find out what was wrong with my father. That was not much to ask for.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Maur,” a deep voice came from beside my mom. We all turned our heads to face the tall, middle-aged man in the white overcoat looking at us over his glasses. He had dark gray hair and was remarkably tan, although his age was apparent as a result of the small quantity of wrinkles on his face. Holding a clip board in one hand, he went to shake my mom’s hand with the other.
“I’m Lynn Weishuhn,” she said politely.
“Douglas’ wife, I presume?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” mom answered, “and this is my daughter, Erin.” She gestured to me and I reached over to shake his hand. “…and this is my mom, Evelyn.”
“I’m terribly sorry for the long wait,” Dr. Maur apologized, “it had to be agonizing to wait this long without being able to talk to anyone.”
“It certainly was,” mom said. “What exactly is going on with my husband?”
The doctor gave us a look of pity, “If you would please follow me, I will explain.”
We nodded and stood up from our chairs. I was relieved to finally be able to walk around instead of sitting in the cramped waiting room. Although I was relieved, I was still worried about my dad and whether or not he would be okay.
“Nurses have been constantly in and out of his room all morning taking blood for testing reasons,” Dr. Maur began to explain as we walked through the bland hallways. “He has been vomiting every half hour or so and his liver is currently inflamed. After the first two hours of blood working, we had figured out that the cause of his vomiting and the inflamed liver was due to his skyrocketing ammonia level. I provided him with medicine that would calm down the vomiting and the nurses hooked him up to an IV transmitter so we could get some fluid pumping through his body. Dehydration is the last thing we want to occur to your husband.”
My mom agreed and continued to listen to the doctor’s long explanation about my dad. We came across an elevator and he pressed the arrow button pointing upwards. The doors opened and the four of us stepped into the small hoist. Pushing down on the 2 button, Dr. Maur carried on talking. I could not bare to intently listen to him. Nothing he said made any sense to me. His large vocabulary consisted of words I had not even been aware of existing and they caught me off guard. I drowned out his constant speaking until one word I recognized hit me like a ton of bricks.
Stroke.
“We had a neurologist come in from Springfield to do Douglas’ MRI,” Dr. Maur said. “After examining the results for the last hour, we have come to the conclusion that he has experienced a stroke in the area of his cerebellum. The cerebellum is the bottom section in the back of the brain, at the tip of the brainstem. It was not any ordinary stroke. It was a bleeding one and it managed to rid your husband of some of his main motor skills such as walking and writing. His speech is also slurred and he can not sit up without falling over.”
Mom gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. Tears were forming in the ducts of her eyes. I had never seen such a reaction as this come from my mom before. I wrapped my arms around her to give her a hug. Grandma just stood still, as if in shock.
By then we had reached our destination: room B302 - dad’s room.
“Please,” mom’s voice cracked, “tell me my husband will be alright.”
Dr. Maur sighed and gave us a soft, sympathetic look. Lightly shaking his head, he answered, “I’m afraid not. The damage caused on Douglas’ brain is too serious and can not be helped.”
Mom burst into tears of sorrow and I felt my eyes swell up with the same sadness. My knees began to wobble and I felt like crumbling to the hard, tiled floor. Grandma reached out to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. If she thought that a hand was going to comfort me, she was mistaken.
I sniffed, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. I gazed up at the doctor with disappointed, puffy eyes and asked him a simple question, “Can we see him?”
Dr. Maur nodded his head and reached to turn the knob on the blank, white door. The door slowly slid open and I was met with the vision that I truly did not want to see.
My dad was strapped down to his deathbed with wires attached to every bit of his body. They had put him on oxygen and a heart monitor was working to help the nurses keep a close watch on his heart rate. I never thought I would ever see my father like this. He was so lifeless. He was a vegetable.
I sprinted over to the chair beside his cot and sat down. They were just as uncomfortable as the ones back in the waiting room, but I didn’t care. I strained to grab his hand. I gasped at the chill that ran down my spine. I did not expect his hand to be so cold.
The tears were coming back. I tried to keep the salty wetness from encompassing my face, but I did not succeed. I had to let them fall. It was the only way I could accept what was wrong. It was the only closure I would be able to get.
Mom and grandma stood behind me, their quivering hands roosting on my sunken shoulders. They felt as much fear and disbelief as I did. Nothing at all could assuage us now.
I never thought this day would come so early in my teenage years. As much as dad had picked on and criticized me, I still loved him. I had to figure that out the hard way. I was not ready to let him go. I had so much left to experience in my life and I wanted him to be there. Who would be there to teach me what was right and wrong? Who would be there to give me advice when I had no one else to turn to? Who would walk down the aisle with me on my wedding day to give me up to another man? More importantly, who would my mom have? She is going to have to live without the man she fell in love with and I was going to have to live without one of my greatest friends.
My lips trembled as I tried to find my voice, “Daddy.” His eyes were loosely shut, but they budge. “If you can here me, I want to…I want…” I struggled to speak. “I’m sorry, daddy. I’m sorry for everything I ever said or ever did to hurt you. I know you have always looked out for what was best for me and I wish that I would have figured that out before now.”
I could feel my mother’s hand squeeze my shoulder more tight than before. Crying harder, I tried to continue on with my shaky, squeaking voice.
“I’m going to miss you so much, daddy. I’m sorry,” I bowed my head in shame. “Daddy, I love you. Please don’t forget that when you leave. I, I lo- I love y-you.”
I felt his chilling hand lightly constrict my own. My head jolted up and saw his face turned to mine, his eyes almost too weak to fully open. My mouth slightly dropped and I was at a loss for words. My mom and grandma did not say a word.
And in that final moment, with his final breath, before he closed his eyes for the very last time, he spoke his four concluding words…
“I love you, too.”
So long, this is good-bye.
Maybe we’ll meet again in another life.
Like strangers passing by,
Maybe we’ll see clearly in a different light.
♠ ♠ ♠
This one-shot is based on a true story about my father. He did indeed have a stroke on November 10, 2008. He was released from the hospital on December 8, 2008 and his motor skills have improved greatly. I considered my father to be one of my best friends when I was a little girl, but our relationship had changed over the last few years. His stroke has caused me to look at life differently and although my father and I have had a tough relationship, I have and will always love him. I am grateful that he is still alive today.Live every day as if it were your last.