I wrote this last night... its different from what i usually write, I guess I got a little serious about somethings in life but I promise to return back to the funnies.
I had heard of the news and managed to make my way over for his final moments at the hospital. I was patiently waiting for this ordeal to be over so I could get back home and on with my life. Gasping for air and staring blankly at the ceiling,chanting prayers in between breaths he suddenly looked at me and held my hand tight and close to his chest. Our eyes were fixed for that brief moment. Despite the mayhem in the room, I could hear no more, or see anything else, except for the fear and desperation in his eyes, asking me to somehow save him.
Those eyes pierced right through me and it was at this time that I realized what a terrible person I had been. I realized that no matter what I did and however much I took him for granted, he would forgive me. I hated him for that. He would not complain when I didn't come to visit with his grandkids, he would not ask me to stay and talk to him and yet he was willing to do anything to make me happy. Working long hours or eating less than his share to keep me oblivious of all bad things in the world. I hated him in that moment, I hated him so much. His grip on my hand tightened and as my attention shifted away from his eyes to his hand, I resisted any contact again.
I did not want to face the harsh reality of my relationship with this man. I did not want to face my exponentially growing regrets. Feeling guilty, I gently whispered a prayer, staring at his weakening grip and caught a glipmse of his strained neck and his glistening gray beard as he winced in pain. I hesitantly gathered the strength to look into his eyes again but he was not looking back at me anymore, he was now staring at the doctor at his bedside. That bothered me, it bothered me a lot, it was as if he had lost hope in me to be there for him, as if I was not anyone important at all. He violently gasped for air and with a defeated look in his eyes, turned to me, sighed and closed his eyes for the final time. I stood there, stunned and only realized what had happened when I saw a tear roll down from his eye. The only moving thing on his now perfectly still body.
He finally looked peaceful, but now I felt so alone. That look of hopelessness in his eye left a gaping hole inside me. Even though I was there, i made him feel like he was alone. The worst part was that he left without yelling at me for not visiting him, and taking care of him the way he did for me. He left without telling me how terrible I am. Worst of all he left without giving me a chance to redeem myself. He never had asked me for anything in his life before, but on his deathbed, he looked at me with hope and by doing so he had asked me for something I could have never given to him. I wish he knew that it was the one thing I so desperately wanted to give him, even if it had been my own life. I stood there still clutching his hand, hoping that it might somehow tighten around my fingers, so i could tell him how much I love him, how wrong I had been to him and how I would take care of him and make him so happy. The fingers grew cold and could not hold their own anymore. I kneeled by his bed and cried.
Walking to his grave, I had flashbacks of the eyes that had pleaded me for help. I ignored those memories, kneeled on the grave and put down the fresh flowers I had picked up on my way over. I kneeled down beside his tombstone and cried, but the tears did not bring him back. I had to have faith that he heard me say the words I so desperately wanted him to hear, "I love you Dad".
