Writing Assignment

      I am struggling with my last moments and I knew it. 

     The room -- my daughter's room -- in which had been my home for the last few months seem softly bright.  I at least imagined it was against the earth tones  she had it painted.  I cast furtive glances at the window, hoping to see the greenery beyond it.  But my vision was blurry and fuzzy, smearing across the once crisp view.  In one corner, my two daughters, magically coming in perfect view, stood within the door frame.  I took in to what I believe may have been the television set, its sound muted.  It's been my buddy for the most part, but even this had abandoned me. I hardly could hear the blasting gunfire of 'The Rifleman".   My buggy, a.k.a. the walker, stood sentry at the foot of the bed.  I hadn't used it for weeks.

     Thirsty.  So thirsty.  My youngest, Alexis, rushed to get a dropper to dampen my dry lips.  She murmured comforting words, but just like her sister behind her, her expression was troubled and anguished, though they both fought hard not to show it.  I couldn't comfort either of them.

     It took everything I had to breathe.   The pain was coming in waves, reverberating within my body like drum beats.  The liquid morphine shoves the excruciating pain deep within a distant corner of my mind.  I didn't want Alexis to see any more tears.  She's so strong.  I don't know what I'd of done without her nor Andrea.  I sigh raggedly.  Thank God for that medicine.

     A cool hand touches my arm. I couldn't tell what it was.  A nurse.  Her name is Heather.  I imagine she is a pretty young thing.  I smile.  I can just envision Andrea rolling her eyes.  She'd fuss about my flirting.  I would deny it.  She would promptly remind  me how much she was like me and she, with a theatrical sigh, would sass she wasn't in the least bit impressed.

     After my vitals were recorded, Heather soothed calmly "Everything will be just fine."  I think I smiled. 

     My body is like a million heavy bricks, yet it moved fretfully.   I wore a t-shirt and a light cotton sheet covered my waist.  The faintest of Old Spice wafted across my nostrils.

    Instantly, each daughter held a hand.  The three of us knew time was short.  These two were the alpha and the omega of my five daughters.  I couldn't be more loved than I am now.

   My chest was heaving.  I couldn't say anything but I could hear what both girl-women were saying to me.  My baby was telling me Ma was waiting for me.  (I'd told them one day I would be on top of their mama.)  My first born, the emotional one of the group, whispered in my ear about what a righteous dad I was.  I focused on her, her watery smirk.  Andrea couldn't let go on my hand, so she placed her left hand on my chest, relaxing my taxing heart. 

    I heard Mable calling me.  In an instant, I saw her.  My beautiful wife.  It's been four years since I let her go.

   At once,  I was a kite being taken up in a gentle draft.  I hadn't been this fit, this agile since I was a young man.  I wanted to beat my chest vigorously when I suddenly realized I was viewing my daughters sobbing.  My head drooped to the one side.  A single, glistening tear stained the pillow. 

  My God.  I am free.

 After a final glance, I went in search of Mable. 

Copyright November 25, 2013 by Elle Chrystopher

All rights reserved.