Personal Narrative: I Was My Father

I was a child, an innocent boy who accepted the fact that Santa was greedy, and was not going to leave one single cookie, not one. Along with that innocent realization, came the understanding that hospital visits were not uncommon, but in fact, a regular occurrence. As a child, the hospital environment seemed so artificial to me. Machines, wires and tubes stationed at every corner, made me think then, that no person should have to succumb to such a synthetic life. Especially if that person was my father.
My mother recounts the exact day her world crumbled into a million pieces, as a result of one word. The two syllable word that tends to leave a tongue numb … cancer. “Your father did not come home at 7:30pm like he always did. That night, he was nowhere to be found.” When my
The hospital became normal, chemotherapy became normal, the withering image of a man who refused to say goodbye became normal. My father did not want to die, he cried, not out of pain, but for the farewell he knew was inevitable. Thus, the morning of October 4th, 2005, the phone rang with an almost eerie cry. I, so meticulously trying to tie my shoes, kept undoing the knots until they met my high standards. Knot after knot, I battled my way until I achieved near perfection. That was the last thing I remember before my grandmother’s wails filled the house, sending chills down my spine. Provided, being the insightful child I was, knew it could only mean one thing. That fateful morning, I cried my hysterical cry.
Cause of death: Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia - At 7:45am, my father finally stopped hurting, he was finally free of all the pain and suffering this earth inflicts on its perpetrators. Although the death certificate states, “natural death” I found nothing natural in dying connected to countless tubes, IVs, and pumps. Then, I did not fully understand the reality that my father is dead, and he is never coming