Gordon's Last Words

Gordon's last words to his daughter before his death on April 5th 2010.

Big droplets of rain bombarded the hospital as the dark sky flashed with streaks of white lightning and erupted with thunder. The roads gleamed as headlights from nearby cars shone on the wet gravel.

The relentless storm had been going for nearly an hour now, and the drains were threatening to overflow. Unfortunate pedestrians tried to cover their exposed form with flimsy purses or briefcases, trying to get home as fast as they can.

Helen watched this scene from the window and gave a heavy sigh. Raindrops hit the windowpanes, blurring her view. She paid little attention, however, now mostly lost in her thoughts. Behind her, she could still hear the rhythmic beeping of medical instruments.

What a depressing day, she thought as she pulled the covers closed. It's barely six and already it's nighttime.

She returned to her seat: a small wooden chair set right next to the bed of her sickly husband.

Gordon's pale skin hung limply against his scrawny and feeble frame. Once, it had possessed a healthy brown tan, and was stretched over a much larger and muscular man. Today, as old age and cancer overwhelmed him, Gordon's skin was a remnant.

 

Gordon fought for every breath of precious air. His chest rose and fell with difficulty, as though something massive had been placed on it. His eyes were closed, and his mouth twisted in a grumpy scowl. 

 

Here was a man who was unhappy about his predicament, but too stubborn to openly admit it.

Helen reached out with one hand and held onto her husband's, while the other stroked the few strands of hair on his head softly.

An eye opened and swiveled towards her. 'I hope you had some rest last night.' he said, clearing his throat so he could speak clearly. His thumb moved, and rubbed against her hand. His eyes, though, seem to stare right through her.

Helen smiled, and she pulled away from him for a second, leaning down to retrieve her bag. She reached into it and pulled out a small sound recorder. 'Do you want to do it now?' she asked, putting it into his hand and guiding his thumb to the 'record' button.

'Yes, I think I should do it now.' he replied. His hands explored the new device in his hand for a moment, fiddling around for buttons as his eyes, now open, stared at the wall right in front of him.

Finally, with a press of a button, he began.

I'm feeling... a bit better tonight; the new drugs are working wonders on the pain. I know your mother secretly thinks it also helped my newfound temper as well. Hah! 

It's been... hard for me to breathe, and I barely have the strength to talk now. I... I'm scared that I wouldn't have another chance to say what I want to say when you arrive tomorrow... 

So your mother suggested I record this down now, while I can still ramble like an idiot, and give it to you first thing in the morning. 

Well, here goes.

Well, first I think I need to establish that I miss my hair. Yes, how I do miss it. Chemotherapy taking it away is kinda sad, and I miss how my hair was on top on my head, just being there.

...

Your mother thinks I should stop making these lame jokes about missing my hair. Personally, I thought my attempts at humor are quite fi- Ow! That hurt, Helen.

But your mother is right, as always.

Okay. Let's see, where should I begin? Maybe with the time of your birth. Yes, that seems appropriate.

I remember holding you when you were born. You were tiny then, bawling out with your little lungs and not stopping, even after we've fed you, burped you and... sung you lullabies.

 

I was a good singer back in the days in the coal mine, ya'know. I could've impressed anyone back there with my tenor. But you, heh... You were one of the most... unappreciative audience, honey.

I've sung Mary, sung Humpty Dumpty, even Ink Spots, but you would still cry. It drove your mother and I up the wall, that did.

Well, by some miracle... We all managed to survive 'till your fourth birthday. Now, instead of a loud baby, you've changed to a sweet, quiet little girl. 

You had an eye problem then, and had to wear those huge glasses. You used to be so proud of them too! Ha!

 

I still keep them, ya'know. It's locked away in my desk at home; along with the locket your mother gave me last anniversary...

 

I remember when you first got those glasses. You started pestering us with questions on 'why?', 'how', ‘what?’ Damn drove us mad when we didn't know the answer. 

 

That was the reason why we decided to bring you to the public library. Thank the Lord for that Godsend. After that, you'd barely even talk to us unless it's a demand to go to the "book palace".

Of course, you grew a little bit more, and before we knew it. You were ready to go to school.

 

Your mother and I still keep the photo of your first day of school. We were so proud of you when you walked through the school gates. Your mother especially braided your hair extra nice, just so you'd look prettier.

 

I remember snapping that photo just as you were walking up the stairs. You turned and waved at us before heading inside. I still see that moment like it was only a few moments ago.

You had only attended school for a few weeks when… the accident happened.

…

 

Fifteen people were killed in that bus, and you were severely injured. All that just because… Just because some drunken fool decided to drive his car.

 

We spent weeks of sleepless nights at your side; your mother praying while I held onto your hands. You had been so brave. We were told… Even when the seats were dislodged and crushing your le- Oh God…

 

…

The doctors’ prognosis was... grim, and we didn’t have much of a choice. Your mother still cries sometimes when she thinks about it. Hell… even I do.

Still... you survived, and the entire family thanked God for that. You still spent months in the hospital, going through therapy. My job didn't really rake in the money needed to pay the bills, so I worked other jobs, and borrowed money from your grandmother, which she still wouldn't take back, even today… God Bless her.

After therapy, and a new prosthetic, you went back to school. The first few years were torture for you. You were terribly behind, and it didn't help that the kids your age… weren't very nice. 

 

You were constantly being… picked on, we knew that. I remember you trying to put up a brave front, telling us about how many friends you've made that day. But it really broke our hearts, seeing you trying to be happy just for us.

Well, fast-forward another 5 years, and now… you're 12. You started having some real friends, and were fast becoming an overachiever. You worked hard, and graduated to one of the better high schools with excellent grades.

 

We've fought about which school you should go to: You wanted to go to a school where most of your friends were going, but I wanted to enroll you in those new-fangled private schools for them geniuses. In protest, you threw a tantrum and refused to speak to me for days until I agreed.

 

Heh… I remember how you gave me a big hug once I dropped the whole private school business. You looked at me with defiant eyes and said, "One day, you're going to say I made the right choice, and then you're going to buy me some ice-cream."

Your new school was farther away, so the teachers, the kids, they never knew about you. Many were… uncomfortable with your condition but at least with older and more ‘mature’ peers, you were accepted. Still… I remember you coming home once and telling us about that… bitchy girl in your class and how she and her clique tried to make school life miserable for you.

I also remember how you and your friends got revenge by throwing blue paint down on them. That landed all of you a few weeks’ worth of detention. It was heartening to see your friends stick by you through it all.

I guess going to a school with your friends was a good idea after all…. 

Heh, I still haven't bought you that ice-cream, haven't I, honey?

Well, your teenage years were… difficult sometimes. God knows the number of times you'd go you’re your… mood swings, and how you'd lock yourself in your room. We argued about a lot of things that time, namely, your career.

 

Your mother and I wanted you to go to law school. We didn’t want you working as a nurse or, worse yet, a coal miner! You insisted on studying in medicine, however, and we were afraid that you’d be stuck working as a nurse.

Yet, as time went by, you did many things we that made us proud of you. I still keep that letter from the grateful old man you spent a week helping out as part of a community service thing. Even after the program ended, you kept going back.

 

You were inspired by the people, you said, and you wanted to help them. You became a volunteer, and spent a good part of Sunday mornings and afternoons there, not to mention a good chunk of the holidays.

Well, another 5 years passed, and now you're onto university, taking a degree in Primary Health Care. By that time, the feminist movement was really starting to kick in, and there were now a lot of women doctors. You pressed on, and your impressive credentials as volunteer worker really paid off. I could still see you wearing that ridiculous square hat as you made your way up the stage and accepted that scroll. You were now a real doctor.

Your mother and I positively glowed that day. Do you remember seeing us beaming like idiots amongst the crowd? I remember shaking some random stranger by the shoulder and pointing you out. "That's my daughter." I'd say. “She’s a doctor!”

During all of this, you also found love.

Who would've have thought you’ve been dating the guy who helped you dump paint over Cindy Sanders back in high school since you were 15?

Far too young, I thought, and I was tempted to have a private… talk with him… Heh, I was kinda afraid you'd have your heart broken. But you two held fast, and never loosened.

Still, that doesn't mean I won't give him the stink eye every time he visits the house for dinner.

I bet that must have made him very uncomfortable. Ha!

Bah… it's getting late, and I need to finish this.

Well, here you are… Aged 22, engaged to Harvey, working as an excellent physiologist, helping out the kids and old people who are in the same boat as you. Your mother and I… Well, we thought losing your legs would have broken your spirit, just as how it nearly did ours. But you are truly so much stronger than we thought.

If ever you have any doubts before, know this, honey: We are… I am… so proud of you.

Author's Note

I'm trying to express Gordon's emotions as best as I can relying solely on his message to his daughter. Grammar is not an issue (I hope), as I really just like some input on the story as a whole in terms of expressing feelings and atmosphere.
but really, I just hope you enjoy the story. :)

Updated to Version 2, some minor tweaks and Grammatical changes. Thanks to Tea4Two for pointing out some of my mistakes!

Reviews

[Tea4Two]

One thing that jumps out at me right away is that there was no revision done on this piece. Sometimes your your grammar is slightly off... something that could have been fixed by a critical revision.

The only part I can say that I enjoyed somewhat was the recording sequence, the writing seemed more honest to me. The setting of the scene before this part seemed to me to be extremely over-written. In most cases you have used 20 words where 5 would have done better, all in an attempt to write stylistically. Always remember that style comes with simplicity.

The other thing that caught my eye that you could use a lot less of is your reliance on adverbs to describe situations. eg: "'I hope you actually slept last night.' He said hoarsely"... It would add a lot more weight and clarity to your writing if you instead said : 'I hope you actually slept last night.' he said, clearing his throat.

I don't claim to be an expert but the best crit I have ever received is what I am giving you now. As writers we don't post our work so we can hear how fantastic it is but rather to improve our craft. Don't be discouraged... it is all part of the process. Otherwise, well done and I hope my advice will help you out.