On the evening of Saturday the 18th of January, 2008, I was walking out of the Intensive Care Unit, getting shouted at by my Grandfather. It was getting dark outside. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept all night on the flight. I had just seen someone I love in pain.
I was in tears, and he was scoffing at me "What do you think he will feel like EH? If he sees you cry? Now you are just going make him feel worse. Pull yourself together stupid girl. How do you think he will feel?"he spat. He just shaking his head at me with narrowed eyes, disgusted at what I had just done.
I tried to pull myself together. But wasn't really succeeding. I walked through the corridor of the ICU, looking at my Dad for the last time that day and put on my shoes. My dusty shoes that had walked through the rain washed mud that bordered the main hospital building. Walking up the two levels of rickety stairs, I seemed to be on auto pilot, hysterical to some extent. I tried to calm down, and various relatives were patting me on the back. I held onto the tears in front of my Grandmother, who was already going crazy with concern for her eldest son. My aunt and uncle came upto me, both giving me a big hug, and we decided that it was best that I went home - they did not want me to stay in the hospital which was beginning to seem like an oasis for filth and muck and dirt and death and disease.
Picking up my phone in the room upstairs, there was no signal. Damn. I went to stand by the window - One bar of signal. Thank the Gods. I called my mum but could not help but burst into tears again, staring out of the window. She could not understand a word of what I was saying, "What? I cant understand you darling, calm down for a second. Please."
I cried and cried and cried. I cried down the stairs, and I cried all the way home in our 45 minute car ride home. I cried when I got home. In my Mum's parents' house, my Grandmama saw me in tears. I think it was the first time that she had seen me in real tears, and it was the first time we had a "moment" of our own. She gave me a huge hug, and told me it would be okay, and explained that he just looked tired because of the surgery, and that he was getting healthier each day. Oh, how I wanted that to be the case, how I prayed it would be the truth.
Around 8.30pm, I was talking to my mum, yet again, on Skype, telling her that I could believe the state that he was in, explaining that I had actually cried in front of dad in the hospital.
I know how much it kills him to see me cry, but I still did, and I could not do anything but cry when I saw him.
He was upset, I knew it.
But he never shed a tear. Never.
He was always like that, emotions all sewed up like a stitched up turkey on Thanksgiving. When I was talking to Dad, I couldn't think of anything to say, he just looked terrible - far worse than I had ever seen him. I didnt even get the chance to show him my braces or tell him about the outrageous things we had seen and done in Nepal the previous month.
My mum told me to calm down, to stop crying, but I couldn't. I think thats the longest that I have ever cried at once. And I had no clue why I was crying though, everyone said Dad was fine, even he did. But seeing him, he just looked terrible.
And I wasnt there to help him through it.
The killer was crying in front of him.
My mum was worried. Concern pouring through her voice, and no one could help me. I cried my self to sleep, with my grandma next to me, and my Mum worried, concerned about what was to happen. It was a disturbed sleep.
Could things be worse? I felt like a pot of shit.
But it was only the 18th of January, 2008. Who knew the downward spiral had not even began yet.
I was in tears, and he was scoffing at me "What do you think he will feel like EH? If he sees you cry? Now you are just going make him feel worse. Pull yourself together stupid girl. How do you think he will feel?"he spat. He just shaking his head at me with narrowed eyes, disgusted at what I had just done.
I tried to pull myself together. But wasn't really succeeding. I walked through the corridor of the ICU, looking at my Dad for the last time that day and put on my shoes. My dusty shoes that had walked through the rain washed mud that bordered the main hospital building. Walking up the two levels of rickety stairs, I seemed to be on auto pilot, hysterical to some extent. I tried to calm down, and various relatives were patting me on the back. I held onto the tears in front of my Grandmother, who was already going crazy with concern for her eldest son. My aunt and uncle came upto me, both giving me a big hug, and we decided that it was best that I went home - they did not want me to stay in the hospital which was beginning to seem like an oasis for filth and muck and dirt and death and disease.
Picking up my phone in the room upstairs, there was no signal. Damn. I went to stand by the window - One bar of signal. Thank the Gods. I called my mum but could not help but burst into tears again, staring out of the window. She could not understand a word of what I was saying, "What? I cant understand you darling, calm down for a second. Please."
I cried and cried and cried. I cried down the stairs, and I cried all the way home in our 45 minute car ride home. I cried when I got home. In my Mum's parents' house, my Grandmama saw me in tears. I think it was the first time that she had seen me in real tears, and it was the first time we had a "moment" of our own. She gave me a huge hug, and told me it would be okay, and explained that he just looked tired because of the surgery, and that he was getting healthier each day. Oh, how I wanted that to be the case, how I prayed it would be the truth.
Around 8.30pm, I was talking to my mum, yet again, on Skype, telling her that I could believe the state that he was in, explaining that I had actually cried in front of dad in the hospital.
I know how much it kills him to see me cry, but I still did, and I could not do anything but cry when I saw him.
He was upset, I knew it.
But he never shed a tear. Never.
He was always like that, emotions all sewed up like a stitched up turkey on Thanksgiving. When I was talking to Dad, I couldn't think of anything to say, he just looked terrible - far worse than I had ever seen him. I didnt even get the chance to show him my braces or tell him about the outrageous things we had seen and done in Nepal the previous month.
My mum told me to calm down, to stop crying, but I couldn't. I think thats the longest that I have ever cried at once. And I had no clue why I was crying though, everyone said Dad was fine, even he did. But seeing him, he just looked terrible.
And I wasnt there to help him through it.
The killer was crying in front of him.
My mum was worried. Concern pouring through her voice, and no one could help me. I cried my self to sleep, with my grandma next to me, and my Mum worried, concerned about what was to happen. It was a disturbed sleep.
Could things be worse? I felt like a pot of shit.
But it was only the 18th of January, 2008. Who knew the downward spiral had not even began yet.
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