TheBanyanTree: THE DAY MY FATHER DIED

[Sharon Mack]

Written to prompt 2/1/04:  Choose an incident in weather...describe it. Choose a particular day you can remember.

THE DAY MY FATHER DIED
By Sharon A. Mack

The word came.  He was dying*would not live through the weekend.  Hurry!  Come now!

They had to wait for the young man.  He had to go through the red tape of the Red Cross.  The boy was silent.  He looked confused.  He'd never experienced death before.  Arrangements had to be made for the dogs to be kept by someone.  There was no time, there was no money.  It had to be a friend.  Call, call, call.  Ask, ask, beg.  At last the arrangements were made.

They left in the bright red car tucked and squeezed among the bags and cases.  The skies were a bleak gray mass that moved swiftly overhead with the wind as it whipped and bowed and banged, but there was no break, no relief, no matter how hard the winds complained with their whiney howl.  The silence among the soon-to-be mourners was deafening and the atmosphere outside begged for rain if only to relieve the strange tension crackling through the air.

The roads moved their weary way through the small towns, up the mountains, and down the hills.  Woods and darkness at six pm overtook them and the trip grew long.  Just as they crossed the state border the skies gave way.  With huge bangs of thunder and lightening streaking the sky giving momentary blinding light, the winds picked up and moved the little red car from side to side.  White hands and stiff knuckles grabbed the steering wheel hoping for the strength to keep them out of the path of oncoming trucks, which rocked the small vehicle, as they thundered past, their large wheels throwing thick muddy showers over the windshield already wet with the blinding rains that fell at last.

They traveled this way for many hours.  There was no break; no let-up.  Just the pounding of the elements through the darkness of the night and early morning hours and the softness of their breath as two slept.

Only the changed colors of the sky hinted that morning might be upon them.  As they reached their destination, the heavy rains, still slipping and sliding from sky to ground met them at the door.  They entered into the quiet and waited.  Waited to go*waited to go and to see him die.

As full morning came at last they found the wind had brought a northern blast*.cold! Cold like ice, cold like death, cold like black. Intermittently, throughout the day as the family gathered from all over the country, the elements reminded everyone of the fact that they had the power.  The branches of the trees bent forward to meet the ground; the rains spattered in a mere mist for a moment and then rising in fury fell so hard and with such speed you could not see out the windows as it ran down the glass in heavy sheets. The clouds shifted and blew but never gave up their place in the sky, just merely changed their shades of gray.  Only the cold was stationary, biting and bitter.

The day wore on.  Last goodbyes, tearful farewells and memories good and bad.  Hospice workers came dispensing their cheer with morbid-like tones and frozen smiles, Morphine was administered to ease his going and all the while we talked...they talked.  Did he hear?  Did his mind work?  Did his ears?  

His eyebrows lifted as though he wanted his eyes to open.  His mouth worked and his breath stopped...one second...two seconds*three seconds.  Was he gone?  .*and then his lip quivered and his breath came back in a sudden rush.  He sucked it in and then let it out noisily and then went on as before.

At some minutes after four pm he lifted up and reached forward with his hands toward the boy.  No one else saw.  No one else knew....he had taken his last breath, his eyes looking past the boy into the air a slight smile on his lips.  He held on for just a moment more.  

He fell back and went limp and the wife cried first....

....and the wind stopped and the clouds opened revealing blue sky.  The sun moved out of the shadows and its light was reflected in the wet streets and gutters and the beams came through the windowpanes and rested on his head and in his hands.