Say What You Have To
I barely remember waking up, but I do remember the long drive. At least it felt long, pulling into the hospital parking lot, going up the stairs and elevator, looking for his room. Not knowing what I was about to see, or feel. Walking down that hallway, there weren’t very many people. Just a few nurses. My family was at the end near his room, but not inside, only two at a time. So we all took turns, I didn’t look into the room until my own. I didn’t want to see him like that, but I wanted to see him. I needed to, I needed to say goodbye... that word... never left my tongue. How was I to tell the man who helped me so much, goodbye? It’s just foreign to me. I always say, “I’ll see you later,” because goodbye means forever, and I can’t believe this is forever. So I walk in, my dad talks first, I’m off to the side, not knowing what to do, completely blank in thought just staring. Dad tells me to grab his hand, “he can hear you, he just can’t see or speak to you. So tell him you love him.”