I’m standing on the metro. I hear “The Blinded Forest” come up. It reminds me of my father’s death every damn time.
I remember sitting in the ICU, watching him waste away with a tube in his chest, connected to a box with “fluids”… blood excreted from the cancer growth that at that point had spread from his upper back, through his lungs, and down to his lower spine. He had a breathing mask over his face that every so often puffed out this white looking smoke. He could no longer talk at that point because it was so hard for him to even breathe. A whisper was like sprinting 200 yards.
I remember the walls of that room having a bit of a slight pink tint. I remember the thigh high cabinets below the windows that faced the bridge that connected Miami to South Beach. I was at Mt. Sinai. The name alone evokes the idea that it was some sort of miracle place. It wasn’t.
I can’t fathom what went through his head at the time. He told my sister he wasn’t afraid. I don’t know if that was a lie for our benefit or not. I hope it was true. My last words to him was “Thank you for being so brave”.
I’m not entirely sure why I felt the need to write this right now. I’m not sure what was the point. But there it is. The moment will pass. So I tell myself.