A PERSONAL TRIBUTE

A frail old silver haired man with rosy cheeks and a gentile smile would sit on the wicker chair when he was able to breathe himself out of bed, sometimes radiant light would stream from the large patio windows directly next to him and flood the room with warmth and energy.  It would catch on his face and make his skin seem alive and glowing with health.  His white grandad shirts which he always wore would radiantly gleam in the suhlight as if he was some pure mortal, some spiritual being that no one could touch, in contrast with the pinkness of his skin.

 

His piercing aquamarine coloured eyes would stare intensely at you, as if they were burning through your skin and absorbing all your thoughts.

 

He would frequently struggle for breath, wheezing and coughing and gulping furiously for air to stop his feeling of suffocation, large greenish, viscous fluid would forcibly be expelled from his lungs after a deep cough and be hurled into a red, plastic bucket positioned directly by the side of his bed.  I would watch him anxiously as he attempted to breath and find respite.  My stomach would always feel nauseous and my heart would ache with helplessness and sympathy for him.  In between this, I would sit on the edge of his bed and he would tell me silly limericks and fictional stories.  These would always make me laugh, as he told them with so much character and dramatic authenticity.  His stories always made me very inquisitive so I was always asking so many questions, hardly giving myself time to breathe when they had finished.  I would always end up tiring him out with my repetitive questioning. 

 

When he was extremely ill, I would be asked to leave his room, so he could concentrate on breathing and living.  During these times I would sneak quietly into the kitchen and peer through the hatch in the wall.  From here, I would be able to see him lying on his bed with a plastic mask covering his nose and mouth, and his eyes blinking rapidly as he inhaled.  Large oxygen cylinders would be situated upright against the wall.  I was later to find out and understand that all this apparatus were his replacement/emergency lungs. 

 

I would often stare at him and strain my ears, to see if I could hear him still breathing.  It would be a huge relief to me when I could hear wheezing and hissing noises and I could see condensation developing inside his plastic face mask.