binded

grace ; so long and goodnight

If there is one thing that I have needed to learn since my father fell into his coma is that I should expect the worst. Yet I haven't been able to, even when my mother tells me that she has been heavily considering pulling the plug.

We barely communicate and the only time we do is when we go to visit my comatose dad. I never know which visit will be the last and that is terrifying. On Wednesday, I leave school and drive to my house. When walking in, I hear soft crying from the living room.

"Gracelyn?" my mother utters as I see her curled into a ball on the couch, "C-Come here dear..."

Hesitantly, I come to sit across from her and fiddle with my fingers, "Is everything okay?"

All she can do is shake her head while choking on her words. This is when I need to be there for her...but I still feel a tinge of bitterness. Her sobs only grow and her eyes are swelling with each tear that escapes her eyes.

"I had to choose..." she finally says, "Pull the plug or keep him..."

From her reaction, I know her choice. But...she wouldn't pull the plug without me. She would've told me!

"And...you're pulling the plug." I whisper, as she nods while the tears return.

I can feel my own emotions swelling before my very eyes and every plan for my life has been slammed into a wall. He'll never walk me down the aisle...never meet his grandkids...he never even got to know Zane.

"A-Are you doing it today?" I ask as my teeth sink into my lower lip, "Can I say goodbye?"

"Tomorrow, while you're at school." she answers,"But I'm taking you to see him one more time."

All I can do is nod. I want to hug her, cry in her arms...but I can't. I have to be the stronger one between us and that is difficult to comprehend. The seventeen year old daughter being the one to be there for her forty-five year old mother.

I take one last deep breath and stand up,"Let's go then...visiting hours end at eight and I want as much time as I can get with him."

The entire car ride to the hospital doesn't feel any different. The only change is that I have earbuds that are shuffling my playlist of favorite songs and the unimaginable pain that aches throughout my entire being.

I will see him again is all that I repeat to myself. This is not the last time you will see your father.

While parking, my throat tightens up and every bit of air that was once in my lungs feels trapped. My windpipe is a headphone cord, twisted and nearly impossible to straighten out. I cannot do this. I cannot go into that hospital room and say goodbye to someone like my father who doesn't have the capability to speak back to me.

"Are you ready baby doll?" my mom asks, taking the keys out of the car, "Like you said...you want as much time as you can have."

It takes me a minute to gain the courage to even unbuckle my seatbelt and another to daringly open the door. While walking, my hand trembles while clutching my phone tightly. This can't be happening. This isn't happening.

When we check in and take the normal route to his room, I tuck my phone into my pocket and clutch my hands in front of me. It was a nervous habit when I was little and it seems to have stuck. Good thing that I have it in a time like this.

"Remember that visiting hours end at eight tonight." a nurse says, noticing our visitor badges displayed on each of our chests. My name is written in clean, blue ink while my mother still has hers from this morning.

When I open up the door, my father looks much more peaceful than he did with the jungle of wires attached to him. Instead, he has small tubes in his nostrils that are providing him with oxygen.

"Can I..." I pause, walking towards the bed, "Can I lay with him? O-One last time?"

It takes a few seconds for me to receive a nod in response and a split one to be curled in a ball on his hospital bed. My lip trembles while laying my head on his chest. I did this as a kid. When my mom worked late nights, he would read and sing to me.

Sure, my mom and I were always close, but the relationship that I had with my father is much different. Around me, he was much more loving...much more open. I could tell him anything.

And because I can tell him anything, I ignore the presence of my mom and talk to him the way that I always would.

"Papa..." I say, my voice cracking as tears collect nearby my eyes, "It's Gracie...and I have a lot to tell you. What I said to mom, I never meant it. I was just angry with the world and I hope she knows how sorry that I am."

As I get nearly everything off of my chest, my mind finally goes to Zane. How they could've gotten along so well. If there only was time.

"And there is a boy." I finally say, "He doesn't know yet, but I love him. I love him so very much dad. I think that he loves me too, but I can't tell."

I know that if he could communicate with me, he would be saying something along the lines of that if I truly love and care for him that it isn't too big of a deal. My father always seemed more considerate of my emotions, not like my mother hasn't been.

It takes me a few seconds to begin hysterically crying, tears plummeting onto his hospital gown. I've kept such a protective guard on my heart that me unleashing my emotions like this is nearly unheard of.

"You can't go...not yet...I can't handle you being gone." I sob out, my eyes clamped shut and my arms wrapped around his body, "It isn't time yet..."

"Gracie..."

"IT ISN'T TIME YET!" I shriek, my emotions not daring to cease, "Every little girl is supposed to have their father by her side!"

"Please Gracelyn...you are going to wake up the entire hospital with your crying." my mother says while I try to calm myself down, "Do your breathing."

I sniffle, then nod with my eyes still closed.

Breathe in.

One

Two

Three

Four

Hold it in.

One

Two

Three

Four

Breathe out.

One

Two

Three

Four

Hold again.

One

Two

Three

Four

Repeat.

"I'm not ready for you to be gone." I admit, seeming to have calmed down, "It's not time...I know that you are going to be okay..."

"It's okay Gracelyn...let's go home..."