Ten years ago
That day started out quite nicely. Despite all the troubles Molly was going through, she tried her best to be optimistic. Molly saw the world in such beautiful clarity. Sunlight streaming through the windows cast the most wonderful golden glow on everything it touched, and she found everything to be quite breathtaking, even the smudges on the wooden floor and the dust bunnies that littered throughout, for the golden rays emitted a filter in which no ugly could be seen. And despite her dad being in the hospital, and despite her family's financial stress, she still managed to find joy in the little things.
Molly went through her usual morning routine. Brushed her teeth, ate breakfast, got dressed. She then took a cab to the hospital where she was interning, having recently gotten out of medical school. And as she sat in the car, a pit of anxiety and fear grew in her chest, as it did every morning. Would her dad be worse today? Was this the last day she would get to see him? What will his last words be?
And like she did everyday, Molly rushed in through the hospital doors, checked in, and ran to her dad's room, fearful of what she would find. That day, she found him sleeping. He seemed to sense her presence as Molly entered the room, because his eyes fluttered open and met her worried ones.
His face was lit with cheerfulness when he saw his daughter. "Molly, dear! So glad to see you."
"Hey dad," Molly greeted as she walked over and hugged him. Just as she pulled away, her father's frail body was wracked with a series of violent coughing. "Dad? Are you okay?" she asked, panicking.
He gave her the usual reply. "I'm fine."
"I'll get you some water, dad." She left his side and went to fetch water. When she came back, Molly paused at the door, her body hidden behind a curtain. She stared at her dad. He most definitely was not okay. Pain was etched on his face, and fatigue cloaked over his features. Molly almost dropped the glass in surprise. She had never seen my father like this. Not once. No matter what, he was always cheerful, always lovely. And then a realization dawned on her. When he thinks no one can see. But here, now, when there was no one around to see him. Dad didn't look cheerful. He looked sad. And Molly felt a pain sting in her chest and a tear fall down onto her cheek. Molly rushed forward, put the glass down on the table, and wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing.
"Dad!"
"Molly! What's all this about?" he said, the false cheeriness back in his voice.
She pulled back, scanning his face. "Dad, are you okay?" Molly asked earnestly. "And don't just say you are. Because I know how you feel when you think no one else can see you."
Dad sighed, the mask of loveliness no longer on his face. His physiognomy expressed what he truly felt, and his pain and despair were laid out before his daughter to see. "Molly," his voice cracked. "I don't want to do it anymore."
Molly widened her eyes, confused.
"I can't do it anymore. I can't take it anymore. The tests, the chemotherapy, the hopelessness, the pain. I want it to stop."
Molly reached a hand over and wiped a tear that emerged from his eye. "Dad? What are you saying? You just have to hang in there, you'll make it."
"Molly, no," he said, gently removing her hand from his face. "I know my body. And it's gone far past the point of no return. All this," he said, gesturing towards all the IV bags and machinery around him, "is just a temporary method of sustaining my life, and prolonging my suffering."
"B-but. I don't want you to leave me," Molly whispered desperately.
Her dad smiled. "And that, my darling, is the sole reason I have fought to this day. But I can't do it anymore."
"What are you saying?" Molly asked.
Her father's hand drooped to the side and the heart monitor picked up to dangerous levels. He clutched his chest and wheezed, struggling to breathe. A group of nurses rushed into the room to aid him. As a woman pulled a shocked Molly away, she made out words forming on her dad's lips. "Please, end it."
Molly sat in the hallway near her dad's room. Not even in a chair, just on the cold, hard floor. A nurse came out and stooped down to talk to her. "Chin up, Hooper. He's going to be okay." Molly blankly stared at her as she got up and walked away. "He's not okay," she muttered to herself.
The rest of the day, she finished her interning duties at the hospital, not visiting her dad once. The enormity of what he had asked of her hung heavy on her soul. She couldn't. She can't and she won't. Is what she thought at first. But as the long day crept on, thoughts of how to do it crept into her head, much to her horror. Every time she came across a chemical or drug, an overdose of that should do it. And then she would shudder, and scorn herself for having such thoughts. There was no way. The drugs were just affecting her dad's morale and mental state, he just needed to fight a little more and then he would be fine. But she knew that was just a feeble attempt of her subconscious trying to console her. All the doctors said that there was very little chance of him improving. Her thoughts crept back to the pain she saw on his face.
Someone was calling her name.
Molly jolted upright and looked into the eyes of her boss. "Molly? I've been calling your name for ages! You must be tired. It's time to leave!" The doctor kindly put a hand on her shoulder. "Go home and get some rest."
Molly nodded, and went to go get her stuff and leave. She arrived home later, her head still in a foggy state of mind. Her mother greeted Molly from her place in the living room, and Molly nodded blankly and went to go prepare for bed. She needed some sleep.
Sleep came and left her multiple times that night. She flipped and turned constantly in bed as troubled dreams haunted her. As her subconscious pulled her under, another dream claimed her thoughts. This one she recognized as an incident from her childhood that happened when Molly was six.
I was sitting in the back seat of my dad's car. We were returning home from a fairly uneventful camping trip. I was pressing my hands against the windows, avidly taking in all the sights of the forest going by as my dad drove down the old road. A sudden and rough bump cause me to fall back on the seat cushions. I heard my dad cussing under his breath as he opened the door and stepped out. I followed suit, wondering what the bump had been. He was standing in front of the car, looking sad and guilty.
I popped up behind him and gasped at the sight before me. There was a deer, lying on its side in front of our car, blood gushing from a large wound in its side. It breathed heavily as it warily looked at us. "Dad can we save it?"
He shook his head regretfully. "No, darling, the wound is too bad." He walked around to the trunk of the car and retrieved something. I stayed, staring at the deer, whispering comforting words to it, naively thinking that it could hear and understand me. My dad came back with an ax in his hand. I looked up at him.
"Dad?"
"Molly," he said, returning my gaze. "When you see an animal suffering, with no hope of it getting better, you must put it out of its misery."
I stared at him with wide eyes. "Oh," I said quietly.
"Get back in the car, Molly."
I silently obeyed and climbed in, burying my head in between my knees. I heard a thunk, and then something being dragged. Dad returned a few minutes later and continued driving. We didn't say anything. We just continued along our journey.
Molly awoke that morning, the dream still fresh in her mind. She glanced at the clock. One minute before the alarm. She reached an arm out and switched it shut before it could sound. She rolled back over and stared at the ceiling with resignation in her chest and coldness in her heart.
That day, the sunlight seemed to lack warmth. It was too bright, casting a blinding glare over everything and bathing everything in an ugly filter. The harsh light emphasized the numerous dust bunnies, the dirty smudges on the floor. The entire world was cruel, and everything seemed to be mocking Molly. She got up, got dressed, and went about her usual routine, her usual optimism and energy lacking in her movements. Her lackluster spirit was noticed by her mother, who cast a concerned glance at her daughter as she put on her coat.
"Everything okay, dear?" her mother asked.
"Yeah, mom. Everything's fine," Molly said, repeating the words her father told her multiple times, hiding the truth. Everything's fine.
Molly arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later. She stood outside her father's room, just out of his view. She studied his sleeping form, how misery wrapped around his body like a constant companion, and how pain stood out more in his features than wrinkles. For a moment, she stepped into his shoes. Being in this grim, dim room every hour of every day, pain so harsh that morphine hardly helped, and nothing left to live for, not even loved ones.
She stepped into the room and went to his bedside. His eyes fluttered open, sensing her, how, she didn't know, because she was sure that she was being silent.
The worry in his eyes seeped away. "Molly, I'm sorry about yesterday, I could never put that kind of responsibility on you, I wasn't in my right m-"
Molly held up a hand, silencing his lames excuses.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
Her dad paused, surprised that Molly had the courage to even consider going through with it. "Death will be my mercy. No more chemo. No more pain. Peace."
Molly got up and wordlessly left the room. Over the next few days, she arranged and planned everything. She had family and friends come in for a subtle last visit, and she made everything as comfortable for her father as possible for his last days on earth.
On the last day, Molly came into the room with a fluid bag in her hand. It was the middle of the night, and her dad was sleeping peacefully in his bed. Molly stepped over, observing him. The pain and worry from his face were gone from the knowledge that he would soon be gone from the world. She hooked up her bag of potassium chloride to his IV rack. The chemical was being used as dialysis treatment while her dad had chemotherapy, and a slight overdoes wouldn't look too out of the ordinary.
Her father's breath hitched and he jolted awake. He recognized the figure in the dark as his daughter and grabbed her wrist with a surprising amount of strength. "Molly," he whispered. "Thank you." He felt warm droplets of water hit his hand from Molly's tears. "And stay strong, everything will be...alright." The heart monitor stopped beeping. Molly wiped her tears away and clumsily removed all traces of evidence that this was nothing but a natural death. She hurried out of the room, out of the hospital, and into the embrace of the pitch black night.