I could feel the nothingness creeping on their doorstep. The lingering air that we could all smell the stech of, but never spoke of. With souls that had all but submitted to the turmoil and force of nature it all invited and came with. He had warned us yet we did not listen. Papi was dying, and we knew what was coming, yet they still acted so surprised. With death comes death of ego. To be humiliated by deterioration and the patronization of others when your body no longer functions as it should. When the first leg was taken, there was an illusion of hope. Because my mother was so strong willed, she cracked and caved in the already brittle rib bones of his chest. Inside there she spoke secrets of Nana. That she needed him, that he had to take care of her and her of him as they always had. They had all but one night together, and one breakfast together. He was trapped. There in his brain was his body taken away and his soul trapped without words. Words to no longer say he loved us. He couldn't say "my sweet girl"
Paris body was gone, and on his bed there i saw him cry. I saw him plead. I washed his face one last time, and petted the mitt that pulled pitifully. They'd put a mitt on him to stop the half functioning hand from pulling at his IVs. Papi was such a tree of a man to me all my life. Sturdy, as if nothing could knock him down. His legs were tree trunks, and he was a druid with his elongated stride and weighted steps. Sometimes papi walked like he strolled with his hallucinations. Other times he'd bark them away. But then there in that bed, he pleaded with us.
My mother cried "I love you so"
He pleaded "Please let me go"
He stayed in that state until Nana told him he could pass. Imagine the will to deter death despite the damage.