Friday 20th July 2012 – The visit.

My father-in law had kindly offered to drive me, David and my mother down to the hospital to see my Dad. My mother came for several reasons. She predominately came to support me. I was highly emotional and fragile; she knew I needed her. As soon as my Dad told me the severity of his condition, I called my mum. She had to know. Her hate for him ran deeper than any ocean but I knew she would regret it for the rest of her life if she did not go and see him one last time.

Being back in the same hospital that my father was admitted to when he tore the ligament in his thigh, was unbearable. I felt stifled as soon as I entered the doors. I wanted to run back into the blazing sun and let it burn my face. Anything felt better than the way I felt as we walked sombrely to his cubicle. My mother and father-in law waited in a quiet area. My husband held me tightly; he knew my fear. My stomach was in knots as we approached his bed. He was sitting upright; his shallow breathing prompted my own chest to tighten. I knew what I was supposed to do so I did it.

He hugged David too.

It was a shock to see him like that. He was a shadow of the man he was three weeks ago. The powerful, frightening image of him was fading. The sad smell of sickness enveloped me as I sat down in the hospital chair. My father began chatting to us and although I could hear his voice, I was not listening. I looked around at other the other patients The room was bare and lonely, only beds and the odd T.V to keep one company, nurses drifted in and out with medication and comfort for the ill. I knew I could not stay there for very long, I felt suffocated, exposed and vulnerable. The sound of muted coughing and painful wheezing choked me. I wished for the exit and the breeze on my face. I felt hot and nauseous but what could I do, I had to face my fears.

I soon discovered that my sister was on her way. If she arrived before I left, it would be our first meeting in over three years. It only added to my suffocation. I did not want to feel imprisoned.

“Ma’s here,” I whispered.

“Why is she here?” he seemed surprised.

“She wanted to see you, speak to her Daddy”.

“Maybe another time, I’m not ready.”

“There won’t be another time. She won’t shout, she just wants to say goodbye”.

“Fine,”

He agreed.

I thought it would take more convincing.

I left to get her. She too was amazed he allowed it.

They were both mature, incredibly mature. It would be the only time in my whole life that I would see them respect each other. They spoke in English at first and then in their native language Bengali. It was emotional for my mother; I could feel her breaking as I held her close. The conversation was short and as we walked away I could not have been more proud of my parents for that one moment in time.

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