#AIR-CLINIC WRITING CONTEST 9: CYCLE

CYCLE

I sit on the small couch in the room strained from the stress of having stayed up all night hoping Dads' vital signs would improve. This was the third seizure this year and this time he had become comatose. I am all he has now, he lost his wife (our mom) in a plane crash on her way back from visiting his mum. He never forgave himself because he made her go on that journey. That tragedy was the glue that joined us together, we were each others coping mechanism because mum was everything and more. She was superwoman without the tight costume and cape, if you checked the definition of care in the dictionary: you would see my mum's face. That was our first and most painful meeting with death, Dad had cut off from his family after that, blamed them for killing his wife through witchcraft. He never left our side after that. Joy my girlfriend just left to get me food, it was high time I ate, I had fasted long enough. Dad was old anyway, a fighter nonetheless but if he died, we would miss him but it wouldn't be that bad. He was a good man, a better husband, and the best father anyone could ask for. I hear the instruments plugged in to monitor his vitals beeping, his heart rate just went up. Two nurses run frantically into the room and I stand there transfixed, with blurred vision and unable to hear a sound. All I can make out is the flat line on the monitor. I just lost my father and the only thing that comes to mind is our last conversation, He said " Life is in cycles, many are born today and many die. It is a privilege having lived this life with you but I perceive I have reached the end of my cycle and can now join your mum. Don't cry for me, that would be wasted tears because the young will always grow old and die: it is the cycle of life"

(343 words)

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