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 to return.
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 tired."
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.
© Copyright 2016 Daphne Monroe. All rights reserved.