"There will be a procedure. They are checking out what is going on in his lungs," she mentions one rainy April evening.
My shoe heels click as we walk down the sterile, grey halls of the big city hospital. Someone makes a joke to try to ease the tension we feel in our bodies. My family isn't skilled at conversations. What is truly happening hangs wordless between us like a looming squall. Someone pushes open the heavy metal door to his room as flares of fear run through me. Looming machines make annoying noises and disinfectant odors take over my senses as I glance at him in a blue hospital gown, looking pale and weary. He says, "I'll be okay." But his despondent eyes tell a different story. Read more of this post
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