I don’t like hospitals. I’m no different from most people in that regard. The smell of chemicals and cleaning solution, the bright florescent lights, among a myriad of other things, make hospitals uncomfortable places to be. It’s bad enough when you just happen to find yourself in a hospital. It’s even worse when you have an actual reason to be there. The worse possible situation you can find yourself in is staying in the hospital for days at a time.
This final and worst of the scenarios was the one I found myself in last year. I wasn’t a patient; I was the worried son looking over my unconscious father in the last days of his life. The silence of that room gave me too much time to think, and one of the thoughts that would repeatedly pass through my mind was admittedly a selfish one. I would wonder to myself which one of us had it worse. The peaceful sleep my Dad was in protected him from the pain he had been feeling the past few years, so it was almost merciful that he had some peace.
I, on the other hand, was completely awake and aware of the situation and the sacrifices I had to make to stay with him. I hadn’t been home for more than a few minutes in weeks. I had exhausted all of my vacation days from work, relying now on the good graces of my boss to hopefully understand and not fire me. I was even neglecting basic hygiene to the point where my thin black hair became matted to my head. I was happy to stand by my Dad though. It wasn’t until years later that I really comprehend the consequences of staying in that hospital. Several nurses and family members offered to watch Dad for me while I took a shower; many of them flat out begged me to go. I refused all of their offers because I wanted, I needed to be there for him when he passed.
The hospital room my Dad slept in was the fourth one he had been moved to over the past few months. The first room he had was big enough for family and friends to visit him at all hours of the day. As his stay in the hospital extended and with no positive changes in his condition fewer and fewer people visited till eventually, I was the only one to see him most days. With the decrease in visitors and the realization that my Dad might remain in the hospital for a while, the doctors moved him to increasingly smaller rooms until they decided to stick him in a room that was not much bigger than a broom closet, despite my protests. Through all these changes I sat right beside him, something I can’t say about everyone in my family.
Around a quarter to twelve on a Saturday, when most of the activity at the hospital had slowed down, a light knock came from the door.
“ How are you doing Ricky? “ My mom asked poking her head through the door. Her once golden blond hair now completely gray with only a few streaks of its original color.
“ I’m fine, you should be asking about him. “ I said looking down at my old leather boots.
My mother sighed and removed her large gray coat draping it over the chair next to me. “ I’m sorry, I know you want me to be here as often as you but… I just can’t. It’s too hard for me.”
“ It’s not hard for me.” I said flatly, still avoiding eye contact with the woman who raised me.
“ We’re two very different people. I’ll admit, you take after your Dad more than me, he was always stubborn.” She put her arms around me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel comforted. “ I am so proud of you devotion, but at the same time it’s not healthy.”
“ I told you before I’m not leaving.” I said, gently pushing my Mom’s arm’s away from me.
“ Carol and the kids are worried about you.”
Mother rubbed her eyes growing frustrated at me now. “ You have a responsibility to your family Richard. Who knows if you’ll even get to keep your job after you took so much time off.”
“ Then I’ll find a new job!” I said my voice attempting to match the authority in her’s.
“ How long do you think that will take? You need to support your family.”
“Carol works. It’s not like we’ll be in financial trouble if I’m not working.”
“ You can’t just expect your wife to take care of everything while you sit here and sulk!”
“My Dad is dying!” I shout in her face.”
“My best friend is dying! But the world doesn’t stop for us.” There was a heavy silence that hung in the room, the only sound coming from air moving through plastic tubes and the drip of the IV.
“I know you want to be here for him, but there are people outside who need you just as much as you need them.” My Mom said in the soft, practical voice she used when trying to explain to one of her first-grade students why they were in trouble.
“He’s been with me through so much, both of you have been with me through so much. I have to see it through to the end.”
“This is’ent what he would have wanted for you.”
My Mother looked at me with pure shock. I was a little shocked myself. I wanted to apologize, but the need to stick to my guns overpowered my want to apologize.
“Fine.” She said with the calm voice a parent has when they’re angry beyond the point of yelling. “If you’re dead set on staying, then at least use this.” She pulled out a stick of deodorant from her purse.
“The nurses are complaining about your BO. It’s gotten to the point where their drawing straws on who has to come in here.” I begrudgingly took the stick and started to roll it on under my shirt.
My Mom looked over at her husband, and I could see a soft smile appear across her face. She started to laugh.
“On nothing.” She said continuing to laugh. “You seem in too bad a mood to appreciate it anyway.”
“Not until you fix your attitude.”
I sunk down into my chair, feeling six again. “I’m sorry I was rude, Mom.”
My Mom smiled at her victory. “I was just remembering when you told us what you wanted to be when you grew up.”
“A radio technician?” I asked. “I mean I was in college when I told you guys I was majoring in communication, but I don’t see how that’s so funny.”
“ No, not that, I mean when you were five.” I shrugged my shoulders in confusion. “ You were running around the yard in your cowboy boots. Those were the only type of shoes you would wear as a kid. Do you know how hard it is to find cowboy boots for a growing boy in Boston? I hope you appreciate that.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Going off on tangents was normal when my mom would tell a story. Eventually, you just get used to and hope that she gets to the point eventually.
“Anyway, so you run up on the porch with a deadly serious look on your face and say know what you want to be when you grow up. Henry got so excited and started talking about how great it is to know exactly what you want to be when your young, and how we will do everything to help you become what you want to be. Finally, you shout, I wanna be a superhero and struck a dramatic pose.” Mom started laughing louder now. “ You father scooped you up and said, As long as your happy buddy.
I let out a chuckle. “Dad said that a lot, didn’t he.”
“Only when it needed to be said.” My Mother replied. “When you started dating Carol, I’ll admit, I was a little wary of her.”
“I remember you saying anyone with that many tattoos must be a criminal.” I reminded her.
My Mom looked away embarrassed. “Yes, well sorry I’m not caught up on all the latest fashion trends. When I was a kid a lot of tattoos meant someone was in a gang.” She said defensively.
“Times certainly have changed.” I said.
“They really have, and if your Dad didn’t help me see reason I might have ruined your chance at a great relationship, and I would have missed out on a great daughter in law.”
“All he said was, As long as she makes him happy we should at least give her a chance.”
I looked over at my Dad sleeping on the hospital bed and couldn’t help but smile.
“Well, I better get going.” Mom said pulling her coat on. “ Think about what I said and for God’s sake will you please take a shower.”
“Ok, ok I will Mom.” I said hugging her tightly not wanting to let go.
The door gently closed behind my Mom, and I was left with my other, silent parent again. I thought of Carol working so hard just so I can take the time I need. I thought of Stacy and Elliot, those beautiful twins I had had the joy of watching grow over the eight years they’ve been alive. I thought of myself. Every stupid mistake I’ve made, every selfish decision, everyone in my life who helped me when I couldn’t help myself. Maybe that’s why I felt the need to stay there. To give something back to one of the people who had given me so much. I had always tried to do the right thing in life, but doing the right thing is never as clear-cut as it appears. In attempting to be a good son and stay with my Dad on his deathbed, I had, in turn, neglected my family, friends, responsibilities, and my own health. Those words my Dad would say flooded back through my mind, and I had to ask myself, was I happy. A sudden cough came from the bed, and I leaped from the chair to kneel beside my Father.
“Dad?” I whispered, hoping to get a response.
“Rick… how long… have I been asleep.” Dad said choking on each word in a voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s been a few months, but I’ve been right her the entire time Dad.” I said like an excited child trying to make his dad proud.
He looked straight at me. He looked at me the way only a parent can look at their child. “Water…”
“Oh, yeah of course.” I said quickly grabbing the empty cup on the table and rushing to the bathroom.
I filled the cup to the brim with ice-cold water and carefully brought it back to my Dad. His eyes were closed, his breathing had stopped, it was over, and I had missed it. All I could do was sit on the cold tile floor silently. To my surprise, I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t frustrated, I wasn’t even sad. More than anything I was just relieved.
