Funeral Amnesia and Missing Conversations

I walked into the hospital room a couple of steps behind my dad who swung back the curtain that’s supposed to provide a modicum of privacy. There lay a yellow man shaking and moaning. Tubes jammed up his nose and smaller intravenous lines running along what used to be strong arms. Eyes mostly closed but unfocused when his eyelids fluttered. To this day, I wondered what he saw? Visions. Blackness. Memories. Dad whispered, “he’s got the DTs. It won’t be long now”. Looking back, I’m not sure why he whispered. Why do any of us whisper when on death’s doorstep? Maybe it’s out of respect. Maybe we think they will hear us. Maybe there’s a glimmer of hope among those folks who are “glass half full types”. I’m not one of them. I’m a boxer that takes that initial punch, then fights like hell but accepts the consequences of the round when the bell rings. <a href="https://medium.com/@ctcurmudgeon21/funeral-amnesia-and-missing-conversations-dd5b5db15a98">Visit Now</a>