Heart: Population Zero

About six years ago my father was in a near-fatal auto accident. We were told that night and again the following weekend would not survive, yet he lived. I visited him months afterwards when he awoke from his coma. In some ways I wish I hadn’t. It was far from a heart-warming sight. His atrophied, contorted, and shriveled body laid on his bed at home. He squirmed, withered and kicked while drooling and muttering strange, outlandish things. Sitting on his bed I looked over in sadness noticing the obviousness of his brain damage. It was painful to watch.

I was not alone on that bed. His father Leo sat with me. I watched his eyes and his face as he gazed over his disabled son on that bed many years ago. His face showed a deep sadness. We shared that moment together.

Now Leo lies in a fetal position with his knees nearly touching his chin in a hospital bed. When he is touched he screams out in pain then huddles and whimpers while moments pass. With his eyes closed letting the minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to weeks he takes in little nourishment and is slowely dying. His life expectancy is two to four weeks from the date of this post. He will be survived by his wife and three children.
And here I am in Las Vegas. I passed the opportunity to spend time with him ten months ago in Florida. Now I am unable to spend a quality moment with him. I did speak with him on the phone weeks ago before he fell and broke his neck. He was upbeat, chipper and was wishing the best for me. His brain was slow though. I switched topics quicker than he could keep up. But other than that the conversation was normal and typical New York City quick.

While I myself grow old I watch those around me age as well. As conditions change and people pass I begin to realize what is important to me, what has been dear all along. That which I ran from, which I avoided for half my life is my life, is what I must turn back to, face and run towards as fast as my heart beats. I must spend time and experience life with them before another season comes to pass in our great wheel of life. Here in this great, desolate desert my heart yearns for my families footfalls upon my parched skin, this barren land. I yearn for their touch, their voice to boom and echo off the mountains of my land. But it is silent here. This land, this heart has population zero.