Ripples

There are many events that influenced my life in small ways, which I could not begin to track. Most of these are too small to bother listing, or even recognize. There was one event, however, that marked the beginning of the greatest change that would ever happen to me.
The night seemed like any other that November, or any other month, for the most part. Unmemorable, spent trying to enjoy myself despite the fact that I was recovering from a stomach bug, and my mother had a huge sore in her foot. I was at least somewhat successful in occupying myself as I sat in my room typing on my computer, adding my part to many different stories as I roleplayed with friends online. Really, it seemed just another day until the news came, signaling a change that would have further reaching effects than I could reasonably have imagined.
The phone rang, and I let my mother pick it up as I always had. As she was in another room, I didn't get to overhear her side of the conversation. I had no idea that anything was wrong until my mother walked in, and spoke.
"Joshua. Your father collapsed at work. He had a seizure, and he's at the hospital now."
I was stunned. I didn't know how to react. Fear and worry raced through my mind, and I didn't know what was wrong. I felt helpless, which to me was quite possibly one of the worst feelings I could have. My mother then told me that she would be going to see him, but I didn't have to go along if I didn't want to.
"What? Of course I want to see him!" I protested. Quickly, I explained what was happening to my friends online, and went to get dressed. Unfortunately, with my mother's foot in the shape it was in at the time, she wasn't able to drive, so we had to wait for my aunt to pick us up. The two of us waited outside in a silence only occasionally broken by speech, our small dog kept with us until my aunt arrived. Even after that, I still had to help my mother get into the car, as she could barely walk without a wheelchair or walker. Eventually, though, we were finally on our way.
The trip was silent besides the music playing on the radio. As I looked outside, my feelings seemed to synchronize perfectly with what I heard and what I saw. Soft piano and a beautiful voice singing sadly of loss and loneliness, as we passed by countless trees and other things in the night, provided an atmosphere that at once resonated deeply with my worry, yet was calming in its own way.

After a drive that stretched on and on in my mind, at last we arrived outside the hospital. I exited the car, taking my mother's wheelchair and helping her into it. Afterward, I began to wheel her inside, but unfortunately the wheelchair got stuck in the door. After several tries and general difficulty, my mother lost patience for the entire ordeal and, in great pain, stood up and walked forward through the doors.

Our difficulties were not over. We were both forced to walk through a metal detector. I took off my shoes as I was requested to and then walked through, not realizing there was a problem, when suddenly it started beeping.

"Sir, would you step over here?"

The man talking to me was young, probably in his twenties, Caucasian, and nearly bald but with just a bit of fuzz on his head. He asked me to double check and make sure I wasn't carrying any metal before I walked through again. Oddly, I realized that I had keys in my pockets.
"...When did those get there?"
Slightly mystified, I set the keys to the side and walked through again. This time, it beeped again, and I let out a sigh of frustration. "What now?! I don't know what else there could be..."
The man gave a suggestion, pointing out that I had brushed against the edges of the detector as I walked through, and said that I should try again without touching the frame. I carefully did so, and as the man had thought, it didn't beep.
Finally we were inside, but still we could not see my father. There was going to be quite a wait before we were allowed to visit and, of course, I had brought nothing with me to occupy myself. This was not going to be pleasant.

Worry mixed with boredom, as completely unoccupied, I had nothing but my own thoughts to occupy myself. I imagined things in my own little world inside my head, ideas for stories that might never come to light or even be pieced together. My creativity was not something I could entirely turn off, just as it was not something I could always easily direct as I wanted.

It was also not enough to keep my attention forever. I would occasionally glance around casually in frustration as time seemed to expand and stretch, leaving me without even a rough idea of how long I had been waiting. Most of the details escaped me each time, though I was able to latch onto a few. One man was dressed quite warmly even though we were inside, with a multicolored woolen hat on his head as well as a sweater and leather gloves. Another had a leather jacket and jeans, his foot tapping as if in impatience. I wondered how long he'd been waiting. Longer than me? I couldn't even remember if he had been there when I walked in.

I wouldn't find out their stories, and I sincerely doubt they would ever come to know mine. Eventually the wait would end, and I would be allowed to see my father. Unfortunately, out of any event in that night, what I witnessed during the visit would be the most traumatizing of all.

My father was barely conscious, unable to do anything but protest weakly and wordlessly when bothered, and attempt to go back to sleep. He didn't seem able to respond to us, or even truly acknowledge our presence. ...This was not how I had ever seen him. When he had waked in the past, he always became alert quickly, and could speak. Now he seemed helpless, not truly there, and I couldn't stand it.

This was not the trauma. Unsettling as it was, what came next was far more so. The monitor which kept track of his pulse stopped registering anything. The line was flat, the machine beeping in alarm. It is still clear in my mind how weakly I called for help, unable to muster the will to loudly interrupt even those who should already be rushing to help. The monitor stopped beeping; my father's signs of life returned as I finally managed to call the attention of the doctor and the nurse that was standing less than fifteen feet away, having a conversation of their own.

"Excuse me!" I finally managed to speak with actual volume. When the two looked at me, I continued. "My... My dad's monitor showed as flatlined. That's not good, is it...?"

They told me that it was probably just a problem with the contact for the machine coming a bit loose, and said that if there was a problem the machine would beep.

"But... It was beeping." I pointed out, having difficulty believing that they hadn't noticed when they were so close. The nurse went to adjust the machine a bit, and that was done.

Not long after, it was finally time to leave. We drove home once more, but the events of that visit would stick with me for many nights to come.

That hospital was, supposedly, among the best medical care one could get in the area. If they were failing to notice such things so easily, what did that speak of the other medical care? It was terrifying, not only because of what might happen to my father, but in fact more so what it might mean for others who needed such care. It only made an already terrible situation worse.

That night in itself did not cause a great change on me in the long-term. It was, however, the beginning of a path that would change my life in its entirety, and revelations which would completely challenge much of what I thought I had known. Though a tragedy that has led to many regrets, it also has led to breaking free from that which had held me back my entire life, and still has left lasting scars.


My father was revealed to have terminal brain cancer. My mother was unable to take care of me by herself in the time which followed, and I eventually came to live with a friend of my father's. Away from my mother, with my father dying, I would come to learn and understand for myself that my mother had lied to me all my life so I would be isolated and distrusting of others, dependent on her. As well, she would show a callous disregard for my father's well-being, until eventually he would realize what she was like as well.
Thus, in the end, I find that even as I grieve for my father, I am grateful for everything he has left behind, and that in a way, he is the greatest influence on all the good I might do in the future. In his memory, I must go on.