Our Fantasy

Gone

Tears streamed down my face as I clasped my father's hand. I could feel his body shuddering, his eyes straining to stay open, blinking up at me even as the heart monitor to the side beeped dangerously.

"Dad?" I whispered. Tears choked my voice, and the droplets came faster now - rolling down my cheek, over my lip, and onto the hospital bed.

He smiled, trying to reach up with a frail, trembling hand. "Aora," he murmured. "I'm going to a better place now, don't worry. I love you, and your mum. So much."

My mouth tried twisting into a smile, but the gravity of the situation hit me again and again. Was my father really leaving me? "Don't go, please." I whispered again, squeezing his hand in mine. My mother stood nearby, head bowed as she watched her husband. All that needed to be said had already been said.

"Do what you love, Aora. Don't conform with society, and don't let them rule you." He said the last with fervor, with a strong light in his eyes that I would remember the rest of my days.

I nodded. "I love you."

Silence passed as my father watched my mum and I with a sort of fondness. "I don't regret anything that happened, Mira."

My mother stirred, leaning over the opposite side of the hospital bed to take hold of his other hand. "Rest, my dear. Rest."

My lips cracked open to say one last thing, but suddenly there was a loud, long beep sound. My father's hand slacked in mine. Nurses rushed in, medical personnel with their cold silver equipment... but by the time they came to a conclusion, I had already known it.

With quiet politeness, the doctor came up to my mum and I. Words blurred as I stared at my father. I only caught the last few words - "My condolences." The doctor bowed his head, and left with the other nurses to give some time to us.

I stared at the hospital bed, at the man who carried so much on his shoulders for our family. While my mother went over, silently standing over, I sat on the bedside chair. I've already said, already done everything, while he was here. Anguish ripped my heart apart, but a small peace blossomed inside as well - I believe that he was in heaven now. 

I picked up my sketchbook, flipping through the many drawings my father and I drew and created together - slowly, the colours of the characters became more vibrant and lively as we continued to build this world bursting with life and opportunities together. As I neared the end, the colours seemed to die. My father, at this time, had been admitted to the hospital more often, and hadn't been able to draw or create with me as often as before. 

 My heart seemed to be stabbed over and over again as I stared at the last few words he had written on my sketchbook, on the last page we had drawn together. 

加油!不要放棄你的夢想. (translation : you can do it! don't give up on your dreams.)

我愛你 (translation : I love you)

I love you too.