Words that come to mind about this particular time in my life when my father passed away are: green, white, soft, pale, hard, cold, frightening, blurry, scared, confused, dark, loud...
A loud and muffled voice awoken me in the
middle of the night. As I came out of my sleepy trance and was fully awake, I recognized that the muffled screaming was my mother yelling at someone "I'm telling you, my husband is gone!!!" Out of curiosity, I stepped out of my warm and comforting bed to see what all the commotion was about. As I lay my foot on the hard brown tile floor, I could feel the the sharp coldness of the tile strike me as though it were my skin touching a piece of ice. As I reached up to grip the golden brass handle for my bedroom door to peek out, I felt a certain chill up my spine, warning me of the bad things to come if I would step outside my bedroom.
Once I stepped out of my room and into the hallway, I noticed that all of the lights were on in my house except in my room. At this moment I felt as though I were in a motion picture movie and everything was standing still in time for me yet the whole world was moving on. It was as though I saw my mom standing in the living room in her furry comfortable white and pink pajamas with her fuzzy blue slippers against the white background of the wall while on the phone yelling at someone but I could not hear a thing that she was saying. I watched her flailing her arms in the air with frustration as she was holding the black cordless phone in between her right ear and shoulder. And even at this point, I still couldn't comprehend what was going on.
I decided to walk down the hall into my parents room where I found my younger brother fast asleep in his blankets and my very flustered uncle trying to revive my father from whatever trance he was in. It was only minutes later that I found that my father was not in some trance or asleep but he was dead. Although the meaning and understanding of death was not quite clear to me at this age of five, a part of me knew that my father would probably not wake up from whatever state of mind he was in.
My uncle gestured for me to get onto the bed and stay next to my father as he went to assist my mother with the person that she was dealing with on the phone. Though a little afraid and unsure, I jumped onto the warm and comforting bed which my father lay and just watched him for some time. I recall gazing at this face and noticing the paleness of this lips and the stubby facial hairs protruding from his skin that he would normally have shaved off by the time I was up and about and having breakfast with my other siblings on a regular day.
My thoughts about the paleness of his skin were then interrupted by my sister's quiet footsteps and the squeaking of the brown and orange-like rusty hinges of the dark brown door. As she was getting on the bed beside me, I felt the urge to grab my fathers hands. The feeling of his heavy, cold, and rough hands against my baby soft skin was one touch that would last with me for the rest of my life. His heavy cold hand was a physical feeling that I had not experienced before. His whole body was really cold but not so cold that it was as cold as ice. It felt something like the cold tile on the floor on a winters night only a few degrees warmer. At the time, the heaviness of his arm had felt like a 20 lb steel set of weights.
Moments after, there was some loud banging on the front door of our house and then the men in their blue jump suits and white t-shirts walked in. My mother quickly rushed my sister and I out of their room and into the living room. I ran to sit beside my uncle on our really old and run down brown corduroy-like couch. For some reason, it was then that I started to feel tears stream down my face and it struck me like a set of knives grinding in the middle of my stomach with its warmness against my cold face. Then the paramedics came out with my father's body laying flat on a gurney helplessly with his green sweat pants and a white t-shirt. They continued to examine his body and then proceeded to use a heart fibulator to try to revive him, but he was gone. The man using the fibulator looked up at my mom and announced that he was gone and then recorded the time of death.
The men started to pack their things up and then hauled my father's body on the gurney. Tears started rolling profusely down my face as I ran after them into the darkness of the night and felt nothing but the cold grey concrete beneath my feet as I watched them slowly fade away as they loaded him into their truck. It was then that I realized that my father was not going to come back home and that the only time that I would see him again would be through my memories of him.
**As I reread my passage, I found that the essenctial words that helped convey the images throughout my memory of my father passing away are: cold, white, green, hard, loud, heavy, pale, rough, foggy...**