The Hospital Room

The man had the odd feeling of being in two places at the same time. He was aware of the hospital room but he had the sensation of another place around him as well. The sound of grieving voices was telling him to go to the light and someone was speaking in a language he knew from his youth. The voice was telling him it was alright for him to go.

"What light?" "I don't want to go anywhere." He thought to himself.

But, it was hard for him to remember how long he had been in the hospital room. It could have been a minute, an hour, a day, a month; he just didn't know. He remembered his daughter's pretty face asking him if he knew where he was and what had happened to him. In a way he did but as he looked at her, he thought only of memories associated with his raven haired little devil. She had been a handful growing up but in adulthood, she had an aura of invincibility about her. At times, he thought she could accomplish almost anything and would give him the world on a silver platter, if she could. Sadly, he knew she couldn't help him now.

He was aware that his body was broken and probably beyond repair.

"It doesn't feel broken." He thought to himself but nonetheless, it was.

In fact, he felt very little pain. Although he couldn't remember when, he heard a voice refer to him as an "old man." It made him feel indignant. Even though he was elderly, he never thought of himself as an "old man."

The last thing he clearly remembered was his sister's face. She worked at the neighborhood supermarket and he always spoke to her when he saw her there. While they were conversing, he felt ill. He rushed to get out of the store but the clerk was so slow and... after that he remembered almost nothing.

He could hear people around him. Sometimes the voices were familiar and sometimes not. There were strange sounds of beeping, clicking, footsteps, metal against metal and a mechanical breathing sound.

At times, he had the perception that machines were doing the things he normally took for granted and were keeping him alive. Occasionally, he was conscious of people touching him with little pinches, prods and pokes.

But lately, and again he was incapable of knowing the duration, he only heard voices. And, he had the feeling of another place, a totally unfamiliar place intruding into his mind and body. He wasn't afraid as it didn't feel threatening at all and actually, it made him feel peaceful.

Memories from his past started streaming through his mind. Some of them were little vignettes, while others flew by. He saw himself as a young boy and he was sitting next to his brother. They were in an old beat up stake body truck and were shivering from the cold. He had no gloves for his hands and his brother told him to put them under his thighs and they would stay warm. His father's truck was parked by a house that looked like a palace. He knew his father was inside. His father would stop at houses like this and ask, usually a lady, if she had anything for sale or if she was putting anything of value out with the trash. Sometimes, his father would go into the house with the lady and not come out for the longest time. He always asked his brother what was taking his father so long. His brother would sigh and say he would tell him when he was older, much older.

Then, the man saw a white house on a hill, with a barn. His mother was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She looked young but her face was filled with anger. She was screaming at his father as he was unloading the truck. There were all sorts of dishes and plates scattered on the ground and she was smashing them with a broom handle. The man was in his early teens now and he asked her why she was destroying the plates with such hatred. She said they were tainted with sin. Then he realized what his father was doing in the houses with the ladies.

More scenes flashed by and he saw himself with his brothers. They were riding in the frame of an old car with only the tires attached. They flew down the hill of a dirt street and when at the bottom, hauled it back up the street with a rope and down again. They were having a great time.

His father was yelling at him to help with the pig they had to slaughter for the Sunday feast. He saw his father cutting the pigs' throat and the rivers of blood that poured out. He detested the pigs high pitched squealing, the blood and guts, just about everything associated with the pigs' demise. He kept those feelings to himself and on the rare occasion when it was impossible not to, his father would belittle him and tell him he wasn't a man if he showed any sign of weakness or emotion.

His father was a hard man. He was an immigrant and rarely spoke about his childhood or how he came to this country. He was full of pride in his accomplishments and conquests of the opposite sex. The man regretted that he didn't really know his father. What was he thinking? Why was he bullying and mean? Was it some kind of self preservation? He just didn't know and doubted if he ever would.

He saw himself as a teenager and he was standing by the barn with his older brothers. His father was telling them to go and make him a man. He wondered what that meant. Then, they were in the part of town that welcomed people of their breeding and were walking into a run down row house. Then he saw himself in a room with a naked woman, an unattractive naked woman. She was telling him in the language of his youth how handsome he was and that she didn't bite. The smells, the heat in the room and especially the woman were nauseating to him. When it was over, he thought he was going to be sick but knew if he was, his brothers would ridicule him. They thumped him on the back and took him to a bar to celebrate his manhood.

"Drinks' all around!" They bellowed. "He's a man now!"

The man remembered he didn't feel any different. He didn't feel like a man.

He was really a romantic at heart and never acquired a taste for whoring and drinking like most of his brothers. With his handsome face, he knew he could have any woman he wanted. But the romantic person inside of him told him otherwise. He had to follow his heart where it led him.

He often wondered how he became the loving father of five children, who except for possibly one, loved and adored him. There was little love or emotion shown outwardly in his family. Meals were rowdy affairs with tales of bravado, conquest, jokes and put downs. Even though he had little to share, he loved the atmosphere. When he brought his future wife to dinners, she marveled at how care free and fun loving they were.

But, he knew love. His mother loved him as dearly as any mother can love her son. That he was sure of and he loved her with devotion only a son can have. He helped her in any way he could and she relied on him. He acted as a buffer between his parents and took up the slack of his father's indifference toward his mother. At the height of the Depression, he always had a job and sometimes two. He was usually the hardest working and the most reliable and, even though his mother never asked, he always gave her part of what he earned. Others escaped to tap rooms, gambling or whores but he stayed until it was time to get married.

Scenes of marriage and children slowed to a halt. He married for love and felt loved by his wife. His children were a product of their love. Verbal expressions of endearment were always difficult for him. But, he showed them his love thru his devotion and reliability. When they were small children, they often tried to hug him and would say,

"I love you Daddy." and in his heart he loved them as dearly as his mother had loved him.

He disliked physical contact and demonstrative shows of emotion by his family but he saw that he had spent most of his adult life tending to their welfare and he was pleased by that. He would not have wanted it any other way.

The man had always walked to the beat of a different drummer, a beat very different from what he knew as a child. He was cut from the same cloth but a different fabric. As much as possible, he conducted his life with dignity and honor. He preferred to be a gentleman and wanted others to feel the same way about him.

Scenes slowed of family gatherings on Christmas Eve as he presided over the feast at the head of the table. He dispensed his dry wit in small doses and drank wine, but never to excess. He loved the camaraderie, the discussions and the humor. In some ways, it reminded him of the happy times he shared with his family long ago.

Some scenes showed how hard he had to work to support his wife and children, especially in the beginning. But, he thought if he had to, he would do the same all over again. He was the product of a time when commitment really meant something.

He watched scenes of how they were always on the go, always doing something. He was fascinated at how over the years the jobs and the work changed and evolved.

By now he looked older and he saw his beautiful grandchildren. He loved holding them and kissing them, it was as though he couldn't help himself and to him, they were a joy and a blessing. He saw one grandchild and she was sitting with him in the car. She was young and was telling him something, "Grand Pop, you're going the wrong way." He felt his heart ache and knew deep in his soul that he would miss them the most.

The voices in the hospital room were growing faint and sounded far away. The memories show had stopped and the peaceful sensation of the unfamiliar place was growing stronger.

Then he heard a voice, a voice from long ago. He smiled with recognition and love when he heard the voice. It was coming from somewhere in the unfamiliar place.

"It's time to go." The voice said.

For the first time, the man was aware that he could see the hospital room and everything in it. He saw himself in the bed and three of his children were sitting around him. His second daughter and two sons were watching television. They were talking to him about the program on the television as though he were paying attention. They still amazed him and it filled him with pride.

"I must have done something right." he thought.

Then it hit him. What about God? His father despised religion and his mother was somewhat religious as was the custom of the women in her day. The man rarely if ever went to church and didn't know a sacrament from a vestment. Except for his attendance at church, the man felt as though he had conducted his life as God would have wanted him to. It would have to suffice. His wife had been the religious one and he often told her, he was relying on her to get him into heaven. But, he couldn't get that "Saint Peter's Mother" story his wife had told him and the children out of his head. Anyway, he doubted he was like Saint Peter's mother at all.

"It's time to go." He heard the voice say again.

. "I can't leave them, they need me." The man said with his human emotions intact but gradually drifting away. His overpowering sense of duty to his family gripped his soul and wouldn't let go.

"Do you want to go back to them with a broken body?" the voice asked without malice or prejudice.

The man realized the voice was right. He couldn't go back as less than what he was before. He remembered the voices in the hospital room saying how they might be able to save him and it horrified him more than dying. The last bit of resolve to stay with his family slowly disappeared.

"You have done all that was humanly possible for them." The voice said peacefully. "It is your time to rest." and the man accepted what the voice said.

The hospital room had faded to black and the man was enveloped in the peaceful feelings. There was no pain and suffering, in fact he was certain that his human emotions had drained completely away.

They were replaced with an overwhelming sense of peace and love. He perceived that it was getting brighter around him. The light, the white light was pulling him closer and closer. He saw those who he knew and loved and had gone before him. He was home.