Music Speaks

Freight Train

I stood next to the hospital bed. No, I wasn't in a hospital. I was in a house. I gently held the hand of the frail man in the bed. Memories flashed through my mind, memories of the man in this hospital bed in the middle of a living room.

This man had raised me. Memories of him teaching me how to ride a bike, and him dancing with me at my cousin's wedding. This man was as close to a father as I would ever have.

This man was about to die. Tears tracked down my cheeks, staining them with little stripes. I barely restrained a sob as he took his last rattling breath and stilled.

I clutched his hand harder, trying to squeeze life back into him. I couldn't lose him. No, no, no.

Only when I felt someone wrapping my arms around me and carrying me out of the room did I realize that I had been screaming. The gentle green eyes of my cousin looked into my gray ones.

"He's gone, kitten, he's gone," he whispered into my ear as I cried, using the nickname he had picked for me when I was little. It only made me cry harder, knowing that my uncle was gone and I had no one left to protect me.

Grief hit me in waves. It felt like a freight train, forcing sobs out of my throat like something living. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what he said to me before he said goodbye. I had been crying then, too. Those three words ran through my mind over and over.

"It's okay, kitten."