elevators when I actual
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elevators when I actual
By lluggg530 on Apr 29, 2014 01:50 AM
This is a rough draft of a story I wrote when I was a freshman in college. I can't find the final draft, but I cry every single time. Tell me what you think. The voice that woke me is speaking again, "Emily, come on. They said he won't make it past the hour." My eyes flutter open as I slump out of bed. I don't want to go, but at the same time, I do.
I don't think I paid attention at all the way there. I don't remember even leaving the house or ending up in the VA, I just remember being in the same waiting room Wholesale Jerseys I'd become familiar with the past few weeks.
Upon arriving, one of my family members told us he had gone brain dead, and that they were trying to save him. The room that had seemed so spacious and homey less than a week ago was suddenly crowded and depressing. I try to smile to family, striking conversation with the ones I hadn't seen in a while, but it was useless; no one had their heads set on futile small talk anyway. I drop onto one of the crappy couches furnishing the room (sure, they make a comfortable place to sleep, but they're not much for decoration). Searching around me, taking inventory of the people that were here for him, the look of realization on my kin's faces was the same all around. This would be the last time he would die.
The clan breaking off through the double doors of the ICU to give a final parting; at first they would leave in pairs, but soon my family filed in faster to say their goodbyes the less time he had. I watched the scene in grim silence. Most of my family I knew by name, but even some I'd never really met before were here to say farewell. I felt comatose. I was glued to my seat; seeing him die would make fact what I desperately wanted to be a lie. However, it eventually came time for me to go. The white walls that had once symbolized hope for my grandfather's health were now sickening to me. Acidic thoughts were running through my head, It was their fault he was dying; they didn't do all that they could have. He should've stayed home. Nike NFL Jerseys Cheap
My mental tirade stops as soon as we round the corner. What I see before turning around and hiding the view from the smaller ones makes my veins freeze. It looked like they had started doing surgery on him right in his room. Once turned, my imagination became wild and horrific; thoughts of the doctors pulling out his organs like pillow stuffing filled my head. No one noticed my panic, though, and we were soon in the room once the doctors gave us the okay. I stifled a shudder as I imagined what could be under the sheet they had pulled over him.
As soon as I saw his face, I ran to his free side, my grandmother not moving from his left side, holding his hand while she sobbed silently. I cradled the frozen hand, my heart tearing when I realized he would never squeeze it again. My other hand stroked his hair cheap jerseys slowly, feeling the clammy skin of his balding scalp. I leaned down, "I'll miss you, Papa. I love you, always." I kiss his forehead as I hear my cousin and brother start to cry beside me. My grandma looks at me, tears flowing from her eyes, while my numbness keeps mine dry. I walk the little ones out, my body controlling itself. I had to make myself leave or I would never want to go while I the false beating of his heart, powered only by the life support.
We were far away from the room, almost by the elevators when I actually let myself feel some of the anguish. My body slumped into the floor by my brother, holding him as the moans of lament ripped from my chest, the tears coming finally.
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