My Father Is Behind Those Doors
I can hear the echos in the hallway while looking at the big cold doors in the cardiac waiting room. My father is behind those doors. We are waiting for answers. Everytime the doors open and someone comes out, our hope rises. We begin to ask ourselves, "Could this be it? Could this be the person bringing us news to comfort our ears?" No, it's just the nurse moving from one room to another.
The lady across from us shares the same hope. We are all waiting for the news of our loved ones. They hold the fate of our emotions in their hands. Conversations amongst family and strangers avoiding the obvious. Where is the heart surgeon? The cardiologist promised us he would be here.
My sorrows lies on my shoulders. As my sadness enters my heart.
Toe to toe
Face to face
Breath to breath
I take it head on. I let it overcome me. I play the scenarios of what if in my head. Again the doors open but we are not chosen. My very being is compromised. The connection of my emotions with those doors are ruining me.
Finally, the heart surgeon emerges from the darkness of the doors. I was happy to see him but sad to hear his voice. The scariness of the news came over me like a hangover.
The sound of those Damn doors closing and opening. Opening and closing. My father is behind those doors and his heart is broken.
Please say a prayer for my father. Thank you for reading my hub. God bless you.