Home is Where the Heart Is - Boyfriend Imagine

2 - Hospital Memories

I hated being in the hospital really much. It gave me memories that I didn't want to remember. It all started with my biological dad's and mom's divorce. When they got divorced, their relationship with each other was really damaging. I was only three years old at the time. A lot of moving and a lot of life's circumstances (mom remarried, step-dad adopted me), put me first in West Texas 600 miles from him (and he rarely visited up, only twice that I can remember) and then to Asia, where we lived for five years. When returning to America, we settled in California, and that is how I went without seeing my father. Fast forward eight years, my dad's new wife calling me, crying; he was in a coma due to a blood clot in his aorta and it's inoperable. The prognosis is grim, and Sandy (the wife) wants me to fly out there. While I was kind to her, I was apathetic about him and his plight. I also didn't have much money and had my finals coming up (which was another concern). We hung up, and at that point I was inclined to not go out to Texas. 

So I went to my mom's, and talked to her and my stepdad about this turn of events. Mom was obviously supportive of anything I wanted to do, including not going there at all, but my stepdad, Bob, put it to me in terms of being the man's daughter and if nothing else is helping his wife through the problem. I'm convinced, I call my principal, and he pulls some strings and arranges for me to take my finals a few weeks after I come back. I wrapped up my business in SoCal, packed up my things, and I went. All of these feelings from the last decade are welling up inside of me, sitting on an airplane winging east at five hundred miles per hour. And when Sandy picks me up at D/FW, we don't even stop at their house to drop off my stuff; we go straight to the hospital. 

I haven't seen anyone dying before that moment. I've never been in an ICU. I wasn't very moved by seeing him there, though. 

When my estranged father lay on his deathbed a year ago, I felt an odd mixture of emotions: apathy, pity, anger at him, and a curiosity as to whether what I was feeling was normal or what I should be feeling -- I was 16 and new to death. I remember an irrational irritation at the various bleeps and blips of the machines that were keeping him alive -- somehow, the sound of the mechanical breather and the beeping of the monitors was offensive. Grief didn't occur to me. I still had too much anger at him from this past decade without contact, and I still had no grief until his funeral three days later, when I bent over his casket and realized that no matter what we could never repair the years we'd lost. Never. And then, when I wept, it wasn't for missing him, but for us having missed the last chance to repair what life's circumstances had wrought. 

And now I am on a hospital bed, in the same reoccurring situation that he was in and yet, I still feel the same that I had felt on that day I flew in. Was it wrong of me? To not feel grief? All I hope for, in the moment that I am laying on this hospital bed, is that my parents were okay. I heard that my mom had to get surgery but I haven't gotten any update after that. 

"M-mom..."

After I said that one word, I blacked out. 

(626 word count)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I am sorry that this is very long. Actually nvm, it isn't that long. It just seemed long while I was writing it. This is my first Wattpad story and as I am writing it, I realize that this is so cliché. Anyways I still hope you like it, let me know how it is so far and give me some writing ideas for the next chapter or any feedback!! I'd like to know how y'all feel about this.