I had, had a peculiar feeling all that week. I am not quite sure why. Perhaps it was this sixth sense connection; he and I seemed to have. That week, I had felt torn. I tried to spend all the free time I could manage with him. But at the same instant I hated seeing him that way.
You see, he was sick. He had been for awhile now. The doctors weren't sure of what was wrong with him. To them he seemed healthy as a horse. Aside from his hereditary heart trouble and the fact that he couldn't go a day without one bone or another in his body aching. There was nothing they could do for him. And he refused to spend his last few days in a hospital.
We, his family, were powerless.
He spent his last few weeks as a shell of his former self. He had grown thin, due to lack of eating. When we would serve him, he would say he wasn't hungry. Even when he was hungry there were not many things he would eat. All he wanted to do was sit and watch television. He wasn't very talkative, but when he did speak it was about the past. Stories of his childhood memories, his dreams, and things of that nature. I personally enjoyed our walks down memory lane. Though, that could possibly have something to do with the fact this was the only time he smiled. It was nice to see that smile again. The smile that could light up a darkened room.
As the days trudged on, he grew weaker. Although at heart he was still as strong as ever.
One afternoon I made it a point to sit down with him, so we could spend the evening together. Not knowing this would be the final time we did so.
We made the usual small talk. Discussing the weather and such, while we took in a baseball game. He loved to watch baseball. Again this also stemmed back to his childhood. I read to him awhile. With all the medication his physician had him on, his sight was a little blurry and his eyes always kept this glazed over look in them.
By nine o'clock he was all set to go to bed. Which was understandable, considering he had been up since four that morning. I took him to his room and made sure he was asleep before I let his live in nurse take over.
I recollect getting the phone call that night, or early morning. I am not quite sure, I had more important things on my mind. When the nurse informed me on what had happened, it didn't really sink in. I got dressed and drove to his house. I was immediately greeted with "I'm sorrys." and apologetic expressions from friends and family members. I even got a "It's better this way, at least he went in his sleep." I kept asking myself "What are they doing?" . Do they mean what they're saying or are they just trying to make me feel better.
It wasn't until I noticed her sitting in the corner alone, crying. It was then and only then that realization hit me, like a ton of bricks. He was gone...
Who am I referring to? Matt or Jeff? Please review!
You see, he was sick. He had been for awhile now. The doctors weren't sure of what was wrong with him. To them he seemed healthy as a horse. Aside from his hereditary heart trouble and the fact that he couldn't go a day without one bone or another in his body aching. There was nothing they could do for him. And he refused to spend his last few days in a hospital.
We, his family, were powerless.
He spent his last few weeks as a shell of his former self. He had grown thin, due to lack of eating. When we would serve him, he would say he wasn't hungry. Even when he was hungry there were not many things he would eat. All he wanted to do was sit and watch television. He wasn't very talkative, but when he did speak it was about the past. Stories of his childhood memories, his dreams, and things of that nature. I personally enjoyed our walks down memory lane. Though, that could possibly have something to do with the fact this was the only time he smiled. It was nice to see that smile again. The smile that could light up a darkened room.
As the days trudged on, he grew weaker. Although at heart he was still as strong as ever.
One afternoon I made it a point to sit down with him, so we could spend the evening together. Not knowing this would be the final time we did so.
We made the usual small talk. Discussing the weather and such, while we took in a baseball game. He loved to watch baseball. Again this also stemmed back to his childhood. I read to him awhile. With all the medication his physician had him on, his sight was a little blurry and his eyes always kept this glazed over look in them.
By nine o'clock he was all set to go to bed. Which was understandable, considering he had been up since four that morning. I took him to his room and made sure he was asleep before I let his live in nurse take over.
I recollect getting the phone call that night, or early morning. I am not quite sure, I had more important things on my mind. When the nurse informed me on what had happened, it didn't really sink in. I got dressed and drove to his house. I was immediately greeted with "I'm sorrys." and apologetic expressions from friends and family members. I even got a "It's better this way, at least he went in his sleep." I kept asking myself "What are they doing?" . Do they mean what they're saying or are they just trying to make me feel better.
It wasn't until I noticed her sitting in the corner alone, crying. It was then and only then that realization hit me, like a ton of bricks. He was gone...
Who am I referring to? Matt or Jeff? Please review!