Dad Narrative
Kelsey Jolitz
Composition 1 (12:00)
Narrative Paper:
Dad
Once again, I found myself wandering through the uncomfortable, brightly lit halls of the hospital. I was to find the room where my father was, an all too familiar task. "Room 443", I was told by my mother who had requested me to take my dad back to his apartment. Upon entering the elevator I let out a sigh of apprehension and turned to wearily push the button labeled "4". Whiffs of disinfectant products meandered themselves inside my nose while I looked around to see egg-white walls and nurses shuffling about in their bright, floral print scrubs. One of them approached me with a kind smile. "May I help you?" I briefly responded saying I needed to find my father, Charles Jolitz. "Go down the hall. He's in the last room on the left." Slowly making my way to the door, I speculated about what had happened to my dad this time. I entered the room thinking to myself, "Boy, he looks worse every time.", his salt and pepper hair ruffled, beard unshaven and a look of loss on his face. Though as soon as his eyes met mine, that face lit up and the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile. "My chickadee!", he exclaimed. I asked him how he was feeling and if it was time to go as the nurse carted in a wheelchair. All three of us made our way down to the lobby exchanging small talk. I dashed to my car, happy to be out of the dreariness that is a hospital. I hoped he would tell me why he was there yet again. Once in the car, he told me in a few words that he had had another episode due to taking his pain medication with a fifth of vodka and had lost control. He ended up dialing 911. My dad hurriedly changed the subject asking if I was hungry and if I would like to go have a burger. I let out another sigh. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not hungry, I've already eaten but I can take you to get one. We can go for lunch later this week." "Alright, sweetie.", said he. We arrived at his apartment complex and I walked him to his
Composition 1 (12:00)
Narrative Paper:
Dad
Once again, I found myself wandering through the uncomfortable, brightly lit halls of the hospital. I was to find the room where my father was, an all too familiar task. "Room 443", I was told by my mother who had requested me to take my dad back to his apartment. Upon entering the elevator I let out a sigh of apprehension and turned to wearily push the button labeled "4". Whiffs of disinfectant products meandered themselves inside my nose while I looked around to see egg-white walls and nurses shuffling about in their bright, floral print scrubs. One of them approached me with a kind smile. "May I help you?" I briefly responded saying I needed to find my father, Charles Jolitz. "Go down the hall. He's in the last room on the left." Slowly making my way to the door, I speculated about what had happened to my dad this time. I entered the room thinking to myself, "Boy, he looks worse every time.", his salt and pepper hair ruffled, beard unshaven and a look of loss on his face. Though as soon as his eyes met mine, that face lit up and the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile. "My chickadee!", he exclaimed. I asked him how he was feeling and if it was time to go as the nurse carted in a wheelchair. All three of us made our way down to the lobby exchanging small talk. I dashed to my car, happy to be out of the dreariness that is a hospital. I hoped he would tell me why he was there yet again. Once in the car, he told me in a few words that he had had another episode due to taking his pain medication with a fifth of vodka and had lost control. He ended up dialing 911. My dad hurriedly changed the subject asking if I was hungry and if I would like to go have a burger. I let out another sigh. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not hungry, I've already eaten but I can take you to get one. We can go for lunch later this week." "Alright, sweetie.", said he. We arrived at his apartment complex and I walked him to his