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Jessica Lee PaleA doctor shuffles by, and then stops in front of me. "Don't tell me my son is dead," I stumble to say, as my throat fills with tears. The silence is overbearing like watching a weight, slowly fall closer and closer from above. "I am so sorry, your son has died." A vice clamping tighter and tighter across my heart, not willing to let go. Thoughts race through my head, as if somersaulting down a hill with gravity pulling them downward. Tears stream down my face, the droplets of a waterfall that have no end. I slowly rise from the cold hard plastic chair. My hand touches the metal door to my son's hospital room. My heart rips out of the vice as the pain explodes to the ends of my fingertips. I see my son, my only son lying on the bed with eyes, glazed over staring into the open room and beyond. His body, having now lost pigment is pale. Pale like the whites in one's eyeball, like the color of a dying flower, and like my heart, lacking the once richly held vibe and blood. The first cry Word Step Kiss. All memories engraved in my heart like last words on a gravestone. [BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS, CLASS OF 2007 EDITION] |
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