I watched him breathe, not in fluid motions of in and out, but rather haltingly. There were no problems with his lungs though. The pain that he was in had been forcing him to focus all of his energy on the menial task of breathing. I’ve never seen someone in so much pain; and certainly [...]
I watched him breathe, not in fluid motions of in and out, but rather haltingly. There were no problems with his lungs though. The pain that he was in had been forcing him to focus all of his energy on the menial task of breathing. I’ve never seen someone in so much pain; and certainly not my father.
There was nothing to do but watch. Painkillers were not working. Even if they found the proper medicine, nothing was going to resolve the pain for the next few minutes. There was nothing to be done. Except watch.
“Do you want to put your backpack down?”
What an absurd question! How can you ask me that when, on that bed, every second that he goes through is one of immeasurable pain. So what if my shoulders are hurting right now. I can’t even feel them right now.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Absolutely not! I want this interrogation to stop, so that I may get back to my watching. There’s nothing else to do. There’s nothing to say. There’s only watching, so stop interrupting me of it.
Fortunately, mom broke the awkwardness and guilt of small talk. It wasn’t even small talk. All that he could do was small talk, muttering “yah” or “no.” This was nothing talk, speaking words that our brains weren’t even transmitting.
My mom and my dad are not expressive. They hug, kiss and obviously care for each other. But they’ve always held back their emotions. I guess pain can do a lot to change that, especially someone else’s pain.
“I know. I know,” as he clinched his arm, pillow, whatever he could grab.
“You’re going to get through this,” as I heard him cry for the first time.
“I love you.”
I just hope there will be more of that to watch.