Life and Death

Lying before me is my torpid father. His fear is over powering. Minutes ago, nurses abruptly and quite brusquely started his descent into a life saving but life threatening operation. We are now on the path to the operating theatre. The hallways are lifeless and drab. I seem to be moving, but nothing registers in my sedate mind. Things should be said. Luck should be wished. But will that do anything to quell the abject fear that engulfs the minds of my father, mother and me?

All involved have become sickeningly reticent. That is besides the nurses, who in all their self-righteousness and perceived benevolence, think now is a time to smile. If it wasn’t so flagrantly offensive, it would be funny.

The final turn is made. This is the final frontier. My eyes lock with my fathers. I have an insatiable need to speak to him, to unload. No words come to mind. My eyes water uncontrollably. The door is reached. He reaches for my hand. It is cold and clammy. Time stands still. His mouth quivers. Finally he musters up the courage to speak. “Good luck” he says, like it’s my life in threat. I mutter a pathetic “Bye”. He is wheeled away. I look at him for possibly the last time. His eyes betray a feeling of any sort strength.

I turn and walk aimlessly. Suddenly I'm in need of a narcotic of some considerable strength to shut out the doubt and fear. I hear nothing, see nothing. For a short period, I am immune to the world. Life is no longer sheltered. Nothing is guaranteed.