Falling, pt. 4

They woke my Dad about a week ago.

That first day, Caesar and I both visited him at the hospital, spending a good 2-1/2 hours talking and joking with him, telling him what happened, where he was, doing what we could to make him comfortable. He responded, sluggishly answered a question or two with a nod of the head, smiled through hazy eyes and tried to talk though the doctor warned against it. Though the breathing tube had been removed days ago, his throat was still raw and swollen as was his tongue; the less he talked, the faster his throat and vocal chords would heal. We left on an up note, with him almost whispering the words "I love you" as we headed back home for the night.

My Mom's email the next morning read that the nurse had called around 3AM. My Dad had woken up during the night, screaming, afraid, terrified that we'd left him there days ago and had forgotten all about him. My Mom talked on the phone with him for an hour to quiet him and to coax him back to sleep.

When I arrived at the hospital after work that day, my Mom was visibly crying, my Brother struggled to hold back tears as my Dad pleaded with him to take him home. He didn't want to be there. We didn't love him. How could we do this to him? My Dad saw me, grabbed my hand and in tears begged the same from me. That was one of the hardest days, seeing him in such a pitiable state, scrunching toward the foot of the bed and looking so small, and knowing that the hospital was the best place for him to be. Telling him no, that he needed to stay there to get stronger so he would be able to come home...that hurt. But I knew he would say the same to me if our roles were reversed.

After a few minutes, he calmed down, as if none of the fuss had happened. He raised his hands to the top of his head, squinting his eyes with pain, and felt the stitching and the staples. Then he folded his arms across his chest and watched TV.