White.It's the color of hope,light and purity.It's the skies eyes
at night, and the clouds making their way across the sky.It's the
light at the end of the tunnel,the smiles on our faces.It's also
the color of hospital walls.
Seems fitting,doesn't it?You want the color of hope around you
while in a hospital.But there is something cold about the color
.Something cold and blank.
And on that day,it was cold outside too.Even though it was
sunny,you could still see the chill in the January air.
I sat at a stool near my grandfathers bedside,waiting for my aunt
Hope,the thing with feathers,was flying around my mind,white like
the walls.It's swift movements told me to believe that my pops
illness was a false alarm.That we could finally leave this
dreaded hospital as a family.Instead,the monotone of a nearby
heart monitor and the clacking of my aunts shoes coming down the
hall brought me back to reality.There was something more to my
pops sickness then the doctors led us to believe.
Like every other visit we made,we gave him love,and aided in
occupying his time.He'd make his witty jokes and put smiles on
our faces.Maybe the doctors were right.For,as the hour hand
danced around the clock,as the days were crossed off the
calendar,my pop seemed more and more like himself.But the cage
with the feathered thing inside must have broken one day,and the
hope brought my grandfathers good health with it as it flew out
of our minds.Those once peaceful walls now mocked us as he fell
down the pit of illness with no rope to catch him.
As he fell down this pit,we helplessly watched him,not knowing
what we could do.The doctors weren't much of a help either.
"I'm tired,"seemed to be the only thing he said nowadays."I'm so
I was tired too,on the morning of February 3rd.My grandmother got
a call from the doctor,and I was left in the care of a friend
while the rest of my family went off the the hospital.Hours
passed and a phone rang.My father wanted me there.
My father is a respectable man,though silly.I never thought I
would see the day when he would cry.But that day was here.
We both cried,for he died that day.The whole world seemed to
shake as we sobbed,longing to wake up from that horrid
nightmare.The thing with feathers was now long gone.After all
those tests,the doctors never caught his Hemachromatosis,which
destroyed his liver,until it was too late.
My world flipped that day.I lived with my pop.I would no longer
have the things I loved about him.Now he wasn't going to be there
anymore.Neither was the thing with feathers.