Infected

Dad

Rubbing alcohol, soap and odd medications, it's an odd mixture that burns and nauseates me. The smell of my father's last days is forever ingrained in my mind, brought up easily whenever I think of a memory associated with him.

I stare out the single window that was in the small room of the hospice triage of the local hospital, my arms crossed and my eyes vacant of any emotion as I struggle to accept this new setting. This was a place that many families dread being near because it was seeping with the death of lives taken from them when they weren't ready. But that's what a place like this is for, it's meant to prepare you for the inevitable and many saw it as the last time they could pray to whatever god they believed in to save their minds from the turmoil. I wasn't praying to any god, however, I was fighting to find a way to get my father out of this place with some dignity.

He didn't deserve to be here, he was only forty two, in a time of his life that he could finally see his adult daughter grow and make him proud. We had dreams of visiting the world, going to its smallest corners to discover the ways of life that we had read about together.

"Maybe I can have you move with me to the university." I breathe out, trying to hide the frustration of how stubborn he was being right now. I was so much like him, headstrong and sure of myself, and it'd always came back to bite me in the ass. "They have a research program available for patients, I'd be able to get you help without being too far away"

I could feel his eyes on me, but I remain near the window. As of late, I couldn't bring myself to look at him fully.

"Ellie, I don't want to move. You've heard every doctor say that this isn't going anywhere. I'd rather stay in a hospital than have to make you become my nurse." He was always weird with help even in this state he hated even having to ask for water for his sore throat. "Besides Liv and you already closed on the home."

Liv had been in Hanover filing the paperwork for out new home, a quaint two bedroom with a large backyard in the heart of the college town. It was a steal because of how outdated the design was, something that young students were too picky to get in on. I was grateful we finally had a place close to our new jobs, but it meant going across the country and away from Dad, who was fighting tooth and nail to get me on my way.

"We have until the end of the month for escrow to go through, there's plenty of apartments we could find. Think about it, if you're down the street I could be there at a moments notice. You'd still have everything that you're getting here."

I'd been through this conversation everyday since I got the news of his latest scans. Doctors kept talking to me as if I was in denial and even my father was starting to notice the panic in my voice whenever his condition was brought up.

He's close to the end Ms. Tulle.

Everyone mistook my questions for desperation to find a cure, when all I wanted was a little more time with him before he passed. He didn't have anyone else, his parents passed away years ago and my mom is now permanently out of the picture. I knew he didn't really want to die in a hospital around machines, being pumped with painkillers until he didn't even notice he was dead.

I'd graduated when his diagnosis came out and secured my new job by the time his treatments began. But the leukemia was aggressive, barely giving us time to hesitate on chemotherapy and surgeries. It was most likely from underlying diagnoses that he had never bothered to mention, he was a smoker in his youth, quitting before I was born, along with a liver disease that he'd inherited from his own father.

I turn around for the first time today. The sun breaks through the clouds, shining enough to send a beam into the room, lighting up the bed that my dad lays in.

Arnold Tulle used to be well built, tall enough to hit a door frame when he walked into the room, but had the kindest smile you could ever come across. He was a gentle giant, a man of philosophy and art. Now, he was thin, easily nauseated by the smallest things making him constantly double over in stomach cramps that would never give him relief. His face is gray and gaunt, his skin covered in a permanent dewy film from his fluctuating body temperature. If it weren't for the heart monitor that was constantly attached to him, you'd think he was a zombie.

"Dad I wish you would listen to me for once" My voice is shaking. I was losing this so called argument and I didn't like that.

"Sweetie I don't think that moving is going to make me better, it would probably just make me worse with my immune system shot to hell. Your old man isn't stupid. I know I've got until the summer." He coughs attempting hide the way it shakes his frail body. He'd changed so much I could only tell it was him from his eyes, the same green as mine. "Just do one thing for me please."

I sit down in the chair after noticing the change in his voice, taking his hand to steady myself.

"Don't forget your mom. I know you'll be far from each other but try to visit her. She wouldn't want to forget you."

His request strikes a cord in me, forcing out a defeated sigh from my lips. My mother hadn't even known that Dad was ill, she couldn't handle any bad news that was involved with her husband. As for me, I was lucky enough if she could remember my name. Dad had always thought that she could come back to us, with a sound mind and her memories reinstated, but in the twelve years that she's been gone, she hasn't made an ounce of progress, in fact, she was getting worse.

Tears form in both our eyes. I lay my head gently against his lap, crying with him while the TV in the corner shows us news reports.

I couldn't blame my father for his hope, they had a love that would only see in the movies. Even the way they met seemed like something out of an old Hollywood film, star crossed lovers who happened upon each other on Jackson street in the French quarters of New Orleans.

It wasn't really her fault, just messed up genes that led to her psychosis.

"I won't forget her dad. I promise."

My tears continue to fall as we sit in silence, listening to the anchorman go on about what the weather was going to be for the week. It was going to rain on Friday, three days from now. My father mutters something about how happy he'll be to see a change in weather, his favorite thing that he shared with me was the rain that we would rarely get.

It was horrible irony that he didn't get to see the rain. He died on Thursday, in his sleep as expected, but it wasn't without a fight.

Dad held himself together as long as he could, even in the face of death he tried to remain strong, not showing me how much pain he was in and leaving me the one time I went down the hall to retrieve a snack that we could share from the vending machine.