One of the hardest things for me to come to terms with is how insignificant my life is, and what it even means to be alive. Throughout our previous class discussions this semester we have talked about religion, and explored different aspects of why some people chose to believe in a specified manner or not. To me, I am constantly confused of whether or not I should, or what I should even believe in. My life, in terms of greater forms, is so incredibly insignificant that I have to wonder why I make such a big deal out of someone saying something stupid, or choosing to eat meat or not. Am I just trying to make the time that I have living easier? This is a question I am constantly plagued with.
One thing that I know exists is love, or maybe what I view of love is not even called that because it is too abstract, but for this purpose I will refer to it as such. I believe that I have seen love at its deepest form: when faced with death.
I sat at the bedside for the remaining hours of my father’s life, and was there every second through his last breath. It was one of the most surreal experiences I have ever faced, and continues to be one of my most secret and prized moments, and one of my deepest fears. Regardless of its impact on my life, I saw the strength that love was able to give my father.
It was Wednesday morning, July 27, 2007. My mom came upstairs and told me, as I hid behind my computer screen doing a crossword trying to avoid everything that might be happening downstairs, that my father was unable to wake up. That was how I was introduced to July 27th, the first words of the morning, and the day progressed with very few words, but incredible emotion and action. I proceeded downstairs and into my parents’ bedroom, and saw my father and sat beside the bed holding his hand. The nurse was there too, and I could tell by the glances she would give my mom that it wasn’t going to be long. The problem was, however, that we were not ready. My sister, and my dad’s family were not in attendance.
It was 3:30pm that we got the call that my sister had just left Houston with my aunt, and grandparents heading our way. As soon as the phone call ended, the rapid breathing started. In desperate attempts to try and take in as much as I could from the man I called my father, my sister, monica, and I grasped his cold hands, begging to wait for sarah. It was now 5pm, and things only looked to be getting worse. Seconds would pass without any inhale, then minutes. My mom, with all the words she could muster, shouted, “PLEASE WAIT, KIM! SARAH IS ALMOST HERE!” my dad stopped breathing.
After what felt like the last 17 years of my life flash before my eyes…. A breath struggled and produced one of the most horrid sounds I can remember. 5:45- the car arrives. My family walked in with no words, hurrying to get to the bedside.
My dad passed away at 6pm that day, and for some reason to this day it is unexplained how he regained breath throughout the 5oclock hour.
“Hereby know we that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he hath given us of his spirit” (X134 – 13).
I live each day knowing that my father is with me, for I know that he would not concern himself with the trivial occurrences of what we call LIFE. He lived knowing that he was significant to the people around him, and I can only hope that the people that I know will one day feel my existence within them.
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