(pre requisite of my prev story Stubborn Kid)
It's been a while huh?
Just got busy answering calls, I'm actually getting tired of it, but thinking about what I have right now... just keeps me going.
I'm actually pre occupied coz' I'm writing this down and watching "Heroes Season 4" at the same time. Its just too exciting to miss. haha.
Well anyways, I'm here to continue my story about that stubborn kid. So the previous article ended in the part when I got into our house, I found my sister sitting on the floor right across my dad who's lying on the sofa. It looked like he was asleep.
I put my bag down, walked to greet my father, and guess what happened?
Have you seen the movie "Mission Impossible 3"? the part when Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) and his crew just saved their co-agent, they were in a chopper battling with another chopper, (piloted by the bad guys of course), the co-agent though had a chip planted on her brain that glitched her to death. Her left eye was looking to the left and the right eye was looking up (just like a broken doll's eye) well enough with the details.
That's how I saw my dad, his left eye was looking to the left and the right eye was looking up. At that point I had an idea on what's going on but still thought that I (or we can change it, and revive my dad). I called, shouted to our neighbours, shouting that something happened to my dad. They ran quickly into our house. All of us tried our best to wake him up, shook his body, I checked the heartbeat and I heard tuds but was slowly fading. My dad's hand are stuck, rather cold and purple that's when we realized that my dad just died.
Still dumbfounded, I sat beside my dad's body and waited for the funeral guys to take him out. My cousin called my eldest sister and told her what happened. The next thing I know I was sitting on the same sofa, I was embracing something that my dad owned (can't remember what it was, might be a pillow) and kept on saying "sorry" to my dad.
That was my story. I don't know why, but I think I was the reason why my father died.
The night before all of this, my dad was complaining that he was having a hard time breathing like getting another asthma attack, that was very usual for us, since he was ill for a year and although we got him in and out of the hospital, it still didn't make him any better. That was 2am (in my nature I was getting ready for work), but I still took the effort and got my dad medicines from a 24-hour pharmacy. I reminded him which one is for what time but at that time my dad looked desperate, he was grabbing any of the pills, I stopped him and gave him the right ones. My dad asked me if I could stay because he was not feeling good. (Since this was like a usual thing for us) I ignored him and still left.
Up to now I'm still crying sorry. I still hate my self because of what I have done. A dying man was asking for me to stay because I was the only one he has. And that dying man used to be my hero.
Every time I remember my dad, I imagine the bad things that he did to my mom, to my sister, to my nephew, the fights that we had.
But above all of that, I remember how exciting it was when he taught me how to ride a bike.