[07-14-10 -- Here's a short story I wrote for a website a friend of mine and I tried to start. I'm dumping the site, but wanted to post the story so I wouldn't lose it. Enjoy.]

The coughing convulsed his fragile body. As he leaned to the side to spit the blood and phlegm into the pan beside his bed, he saw them all looking at him in horror. He tried to smile, but even that hurt to do. He could feel every nerve ending in his face stinging with pain as the edges of his mouth twitched up. He knew they wouldn’t believe him that he was doing ok, but he felt that even now, even at this point, he still had to put on the show. He had always been the strong one. He had always made sure to be positive and upbeat, no matter what. So, why now, at the end, should he be any different?

It was nice to see them all there. They hadn’t all been together in years. Ever since Susan died, it was harder and harder to keep them coming by; the Thanksgiving table grew smaller each year, as did the Christmas table and the Easter table. But now, as he lay there, with tubes connected to so many parts of his body, they all came together. It was bittersweet; something like this had to happen to bring the family back together.

It wasn’t always like this of course, not when Susan was still alive. She had such a power over the family that everyone would want to come and spend as much time as they could. It wasn’t that they didn’t like him; oh, no, not at all. In fact, they loved to be around him almost as much. But, Susan had some sort of charm that threw an invisible net around the family and kept them closer than he was able to in the intervening years.

It’s funny how lying in a hospital bed can bring back so many strange memories—memories you thought were gone forever. As he looked at his children sitting next to him, his eyes fell on the scar on Bobby’s cheek, almost imperceptible now after 30 years, but still there. And in that moment, it all came back to him: it was a brisk autumn day in 1979, and Bobby was almost 4 years old. Susan was sitting on the porch swing. It was all she could do these days as her bloated belly prevented her from doing much of anything. Ellen would enter the world in less than 3 weeks. It was such a beautiful day, and everyone was smiling and laughing.

He and Bobby were playing in the front yard. He was throwing a ball and Bobby was chasing it. As Bobby ran for the ball (he was still too young and uncoordinated to catch it), he tripped and fell. Without warning, his giggling turned into a screeching that is the bane of every parent. He ran toward his crying son faster than he thought he could and saw nothing but metal and red liquid. There was blood everywhere, and Bobby appeared to be beating his face with the rake. It all happened in a second, but now, looking back, he felt that it took longer than it should have for the pieces to fall into place: there was Bobby lying on his back screaming, and the rake lying on top of him: one of the tines of the rake had pierced Bobby’s cheek. He could see the end of it inside Bobby’s mouth every time the boy cried. He scooped the boy up with the rake still attached and ran to the car. He remembered yelling to Susan that he would be back soon. At the hospital, they said that it was a clean wound, and not as bad as it looked; the blood had mixed with the tears and saliva, so it looked like more blood than there really was. A tetanus shot and 4 stitches later, Bobby was home and fast asleep. Now, Bobby probably had no real memory except from what they had told him over the years. The scar had faded between then and now, and it had no lasting affect on the boy. Why did he think of that now?

Ellen, there she was too, and with her was Charlie. They were going on their 3rd year of marriage. No one really thought that they would make it, but Charlie was doing better than anyone had expected. He was now working as the manager of the grocery store down the street from their house, and had been at it for over 3 years. He thought that was probably the longest Charlie had ever held a job, but he had to give his son-in-law credit; when Charlie approached him to discuss marriage, he was concerned that Charlie couldn’t seem to keep a job. Charlie swore that he would do whatever it took to make a proper home for Ellen and their children. Now, Charlie was living up to his promise. He smiled to himself as he realized that his son-in-law was growing up, and was confident that he would make a decent father one day.

And then there was Rhonda. She sat on the edge of her plastic chair slowly rocking and dabbing her eyes. She was so young, so lost. She was only 10 when Susan died. She took it the hardest, he thought. She was so young, and he didn’t know how to handle it himself. He tried to stay strong and keep up his confidence, but it was hard to do as he watched her get weaker and weaker from the cancer and the treatments. It was all he could do not to break down in front of the children, let alone help them be strong. Rhonda left days after the funeral, and only sporadically called, usually when she needed money. He always came to her with it when she called. He always tried to talk to her, but she pushed him away every time. He only hoped that when she got older it would get better. It was ironic that it was this, an almost exact encore that brought her back. He looked at her; she looked so much older than 16. He wasn’t sure if it was the makeup, or the hair, or perhaps the clothes that hid nothing of the baby growing in her stomach. She looked as young and beautiful as her mother did on that same autumn day, and he could picture Rhonda swinging on the porch smiling in the cool sunlight.

He coughed again, but this time it didn’t stop, and he couldn’t breath. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he barely heard Charlie and Bobby yelling for the doctor. His last image was of Rhonda squeezing her belly and crying. He felt Ellen’s hand on his arm. Then there was calm as the medicine coursed from his IV into his veins. The world slowly came into focus, and he saw Rhonda climbing onto a gurney and being pushed out of the room. He smiled as he thought that he would live long enough to see another grandchild. He closed his eyes and settled into his pillow. He could feel Bobby and Ellen each holding a hand, and he was more content than he had been in a long time.

As he began to drift into a peaceful sleep, he could see a white fog growing thicker. He heard voices and saw old friends and family drifting in and out of the mist. Even in the dream, he could sense that the end was near. In the room, his two oldest children felt his old, callused hands grow limp in theirs. Those hands that had once been so strong were now light as feathers.

In his dream, the fog cleared and the voices faded. There was nothing but darkness, and calm. There was a sense of perfect calm and peace, but there was also a rushing wind sound, it was cool at first on his face, even pleasant. Then it became cold, even chilly. He could hear all kinds of noises coming from every direction. Clanging. Screeching. Chanting. In the end, there was darkness and a cacophony of noise.

Then there was light. At first it was a pinprick. Then it grew, and grew. In the beginning, there was an unbelievable amount of light, and cold, and noise, and crying.