The king of everything

Chapter Twenty six- The final goodbye

The hospital room was quiet, filled only with the rhythmic hum of machines and the faint beeping of monitors. My father lay there, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, each one feeling like it could be the last. The air felt heavy, like it was holding its breath along with him.

I sat by his side, holding his hand, feeling the coolness of his skin. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who used to toss me in the air when I was a kid, whose laugh could fill a room. Now, he barely moved. I had been preparing for this moment for weeks, but nothing could prepare me for the reality of it.

The doctors had told us it was only a matter of time, but time felt slippery. Hours blended into each other, and every time I thought it would happen, it didn't. I'd begun to wonder if I'd be here when it happened at all, or if I'd step out of the room for a moment and miss it. That fear clung to me, and I hadn't left his side in two days.

I watched his face closely, his features soft but so different from how I remembered him. He had lost weight, his skin pale and thin, stretched over bones that seemed too fragile for his body. His eyes were closed, and I wasn't sure if he could still hear me, but I talked to him anyway.

"I'm here, Dad," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

His breathing was so faint that I had to focus to hear it. I squeezed his hand, hoping he could feel me, that he knew I was with him. Part of me wanted to scream, to beg for more time, but the other part of me knew this was the inevitable end. And as much as it hurt, I didn't want him to suffer anymore. Not like this.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and I found myself thinking back to the times we had shared. The camping trips, the long car rides, the Sunday afternoons when we would sit and watch the game together. I thought about how he had been there for every important moment in my life, and how, even now, I still needed him.

I leaned forward, resting my head on the edge of the bed, my eyes stinging with tears I had been holding back for days. "I love you, Dad," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'm sorry for everything I didn't say sooner. I'm sorry I wasn't around more. But I'm here now."

For a moment, it felt like the room had paused, like the entire world had stopped with me in that quiet moment. And then, it happened.

His breathing slowed—so slow, I wasn't sure if he had taken another breath at all. I sat up quickly, gripping his hand tighter, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Dad?" I whispered, panic rising in my throat.

I watched his chest, willing it to rise again, for him to take another breath, but nothing came. The machines still hummed, the world still moved outside that room, but he was gone.

A sob escaped my lips before I could stop it, and suddenly, the tears I had been holding back for so long came pouring out. I buried my face in my hands, the weight of the moment crashing over me like a wave. I had known this was coming, had prepared myself for it over and over again, but in that moment, none of it mattered. Nothing could take away the pain of losing him.

For a long time, I just sat there, my body trembling with grief, unable to move. The nurses came in, their voices soft and careful, but I barely heard them. The world felt distant, like I was watching it from behind a glass wall, detached and numb.

It wasn't until much later, when the nurses had finally stopped moving around and the room was still again, that I stood up. I looked at my father's still body, the quietness of his face. He looked peaceful—more peaceful than he had in weeks.

"I'll miss you, Dad," I said quietly, my voice breaking. "I'll always miss you."

I wasn't sure how long I stood there, staring at him, waiting for some kind of sign that he was still with me. But there was nothing. Just the cold, hard reality that he was gone, and there was no bringing him back.