My father’s hand went cold in mine and I watched him turn blue. I was
23 years old and my father had been suffering from kidney failure for some years. He was on his way to Boston to stay with my older brother. He decided to leave out of Los Angeles and to stay with my aunts, uncles, and cousins before his big trip.
I traveled from San Diego to see him off. My mother left my family very early on, so my father was the only parent I had left. We talked and laughed like we had done a thousand times before. I never hesitated to tell him I loved him and especially this time. Before I left I told him that I’d see him later. I meant in Boston for Christmas, but something felt strange in that moment. I did not know that would be the last time I would speak to my dad. He didn’t make his flight. The night I left he struggled to breathe and was to taken to Cedar Sinai hospital. I immediately returned to Los Angeles.
I saw him in a hospital bed. He had a tube going into his mouth with tape that extended to his cheeks. I had seen my father in hospital beds before, so it did not alarm me. My older brother called me from Boston and asked me what the situation was. I told him that I was hopeful. There must have been something in my voice that was wavering because my brother flew out the next day. At a moment, that I was not privy to, my brother asked my father if he was ready to die. He asked my dad to squeeze his arm if he was ready to pass over. My brother said he felt a faint squeeze.
A man in a white coat told us the situation was serious and that my forbearer had no chance of recovery. He told us the tube in his mouth was breathing for him and keeping him alive. He asked my brother and I if we wanted to take him off life support. My dad had already made the choice.
I spent the night in his hospital room. I begged him not to leave and ex- plained that I still needed him. I fell asleep in a chair beside his bed only to be awoken in the early morning hours by a small boy exiting the room. On appearance, the boy was around 5 years old. He wore a yellow collared shirt, light colored shorts, and no shoes. I only caught a glimpse of him from the back, but I could tell by his black hair and detached earlobes that he was one of ours. I got out of my chair and looked out the hall for the boy. Nobody was there. I thought it very strange as not much family was around and I couldn’t match the young boy with any of my kin.
On the morning of December 23rd, 2006 we crowded my predecessor’s hospital room. We all touched his body as the doctor tore off the tape and took out the tube. For a moment my father was there lying, untouched and beautiful, then the heart monitor began to drop. I watched as his heart- beat began to slow until there were no more beeps from the machine. The room was quiet as an empty church. I couldn’t take the quiet. I clenched his right hand hard and broke the silence. “Go Dad!” I yelled. “Go for it!” His body convulsed in a way that haunts my unconscious thoughts. The doctor said that it was normal and that it was just the natural response of the body after death. His hand went cold in mine and his lips turned blue. My parent was gone and I was left to figure this experience out on my own.
The next day was Christmas Eve. I was absent. The world had changed and would never be the same. I was lost in existence. My cousins did their best to make it a good day, god bless them. My aunt took out some early photos of the family. I looked through the black and white prints. Some of these photos I had never seen. I came upon a photo of my father and his siblings. My aunt pointed to the boy that was my dad. I recognized him. A boy about 5 years old wearing a colorless collared shirt with light colored shorts. I couldn’t see his feet, but I’d bet he was shoeless. It was the boy
I had seen in the hospital room the night before my father’s death. I was filled with warmth and an unspoken assurance that there is so much more to this life than I know. I look forward to seeing that boy and embracing my dad again, someday.
