Childhood's End

“Stop screaming, can’t you see the man over there is dying?”

After hearing those words, I could not help but wonder why they were here. Was their child sick? Was her husband stabbed? Someone in dreary need of help for sure. For just a second I was curious instead of grieving. Because it was my dad the one being rushed in a stretcher to the surgeon. It amazes me how I can look back at that moment and be so calm, because I can remember how it felt, and it felt like the entire world was crumbling. You know, ever had those kinds of dreams in which things are just too much, like your head inflates out of proportion and it never stops. That’s kind of how it felt. It’s all clear, but sort of like a dream, it felt like an eternity. But we went in to the Carlos Fonseca Emergency room at 5 PM, and it was all gone by 10 PM. Looking back, it’s even funny, well, if I ever had a moment in my life I could write about was when he gave me his ring, his wallet, his watch, and said, “Let’s go son.” In that moment, I knew it was going to be the last time I was going to be with my dad. The thing is, we had had a conversation at some point where he said to me, “When I’m gone, this ring will be yours.” Only he and I knew that. And at that point I did not want the ring; it was his to wear. But he didn’t take it back. So I started wrapping my head around him no longer being around. We got to a bed; I was sitting next to him, massaging his feet because his legs were cramping. Now in hindsight, I realize this was because his heart was no longer pumping blood to his extremities as it was supposed to. He was too uncomfortable to be lying in bed so we decided to sit him in a chair. I don’t remember his very last words to me. I remember our last day. In the last minutes of his light I think he could only complain about the pain. He never complained. I saw the life leave his body. I know the exact moment in which he died. When he asked me to give him my hand, and as I was reaching for it, his hand fell; I couldn’t make it. Then I saw him sit there with his mouth open, no longer saying anything, no longer looking at anything. That has to be the moment. Because what came after was torture. “Call a doctor, someone!” my mom screamed. “A doctor please,” she cried. This was the very first moment I can recall feeling truly helpless. Not able to make up a single word. Bawling my eyes out. I was literally frozen. I couldn’t move. Somehow we got out of that room. But the room I went in after, what I saw, no kid ever should ever see.

Don’t go in that room.

But I had to. I had to see that my dad was okay. That he was getting help. So I grab the handle. I turn it. I slowly start pushing the door open. My body is heavy. I see first my mom’s back just standing there. Then in front of her I see him laying there. Laying there. Doctors around him, and with a long tube coming out of his mouth. And then I break. I can’t. This is not supposed to be happening. I get out. I lean against the wall. I fall to my knees. Trying to wake up. Then from the other end of the hallway I hear… “Stop screaming, can’t you see the man over there is dying.”

When looking back at that day, November 21, 2009, every room I was in feels like a different day. It’s all clear yet blurry, the track of time was lost that day. I remember the moment when I resigned my religion; I was standing outside of the intensive care room where my dad’s lifeless body had just entered. However, I didn’t know he was dead then, or at least I did not want to know. So there I was, crying, praying, begging to God I could have just one more day with my dad, to say sorry for the things I had done, to promise him I would be good, that I’d take care of my mom and my sister, that I would be good, that I would always be good. That I loved him. For some time I was mad with God, until I came to the realization that there is just life, and death, if you want something then you have to take it while you have the chance. If you want to be a good son, if you have to take care of someone, if you are going to love someone. Then do it. Do it, before you have to beg for a chance to do so. Want to know an interesting fact? When you see your dad laying there, quiet, pale, cold, and you lean to hug him one last time to feel what once would have felt warm and hugged you back. When you feel his chest going up and down, and for a second you are the happiest person the world because “He’s alive, he’s breathing, he’s breathing,” he’s not. It is just the machine that is still pumping air into his lungs, which gives the impression of him still being alive. Then you will feel like if someone is stepping of what little crumbles remained of your life, as the doctor explains and tells you that you need to get out. Because you can’t be crying there since there are other people in the room who are still alive, that still have hope, and should not be disturbed.