The first thing I heard as I began to stir awake was the sound of rustling and the loud beeping of what sounded like a microwave. When I was finally able to open my eyes in my half-asleep state and see the room I found myself in, and more specifically, the sight of my father lying on his back, I remembered where I was, waking up fully in an instant. However, before I was even able to move an inch, the sound of rustling could be heard once again, and with a start, I realised it was coming from my father.
With a small leap, I all but found myself leaning over the side of his bed, leaving barely a gap between us and ignoring the sharp spike of pain such an action caused. Quickly, his movements, which had started off small, began to get more and more erratic while his facial expression started to morph and change, no longer the emotionless mask it was the night prior. I stood frozen above him, scared to make even the slightest of movements for reasons I didn't even know. I heard as he began to murmur and mumble while his eyelids fluttered rapidly, before eventually his eyes peeked open and his vibrant green, glassy-layered pupils stared directly into mine. Time seemed to pause, with not even the constant beeping registering in my ears. I wasn't sure how long the stare between us lasted before the wispy, aged voice of my father was heard.
"Adam? Is that you?"
"Yeah Dad. It's me." I quietly chuckled in relief, doing my best to hold back the sea of tears that threatened to come forth. I wondered as I stood there, when I became such a crybaby, as it seemed that all I was doing these days was crying. I had cried more in the past month than I had in the past few years.
Hearing my confirmation and before I could even react my father lurched upwards, scaring the shit out of me in the process, before wrapping his arms around my neck and bringing me into a sudden hug. His arms, which I had believed to be so weak and frail, locked me in place with a surprising amount of strength.
"Adam. Oh god Adam. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He began to mumble into my right ear before it dissolved into an indecipherable string of apologies. I stood still, hunched over in bewilderment, wondering what was going on, wondering how my father could possibly think he needed to owe me even the slightest apology. The only thing he owed me was a smack on the head, and that would have been a light punishment all things considered.
"Dad, you have nothing to be sorry about." I finally replied as I managed to pull myself back out of his surprisingly strong grip and looked into his eyes. "I'm the one who should be sorry for how I've been this past month."
Before I could mirror my father in releasing a string of apologies, I was once again met in the comforting hold of my father as his arms snaked around my neck and shoulder, encasing me in a blanket of warmth and acceptance. The moment I began to hear my father's choked sobs as his grip tightened around me, I could feel my own, which had been threatening to spill the entire time, pour out silently. Falling rapidly down my face and onto my father's shoulders, no doubt alerting him despite my best efforts to the contrary.
We stayed like that for god knows how long, frozen like statues with only the occasional sniffle or hard swallow made by one another proving otherwise. Eventually, long after the tears had already stopped flowing, we broke apart. I stood still, feeling awkward and unsure about what to say and do next, feeling slightly embarrassed after having just wept like a child in front of my father, as nonsensical as that feeling was. Though, based on the blush on my father's face, easily seen on his still ghastly complexion, it was clear he felt something similar. That was until he looked back at my face and noticed the swollen and bruised mess it was in.
"My god, Adam! What in the hell happened? Are you alright?" He asked in a panic, showing far more concern for me than himself, despite being the one currently in the hospital. A thought which brought a small laugh to my lips as I quickly reassured him.
"Dad, it's fine, I swear. It's nothing serious. Just got into a fight last night before I got here. But you don't have to worry. It won't happen again." I could tell he was anything but reassured with my answer, yet my face must have shown my reluctance to talk about it anymore, as despite the grimace resting on his face, he asked no further questions.
"So," Dad eventually spoke after a few seconds, breaking the silence, "I know this isn't the best time. But now that we're talking, I was wondering if you could maybe tell me more about what the doctors said about your health. You didn't really tell me much when we last talked about it." He joked, or at least tried to. It was apparent from how anxious he was that he was worried I wouldn't tell him. A reasonable worry based on how I really didn't want to. However, I knew I had to. He deserved to know; he was my father and had just as much a right to know about what my illness really meant as I did.
I proceeded to tell him everything I knew. How I got the disease, how my health and condition had deteriorated and would continue to do so, as well as what treatment options I had available, as few as they were. That specific conversation reminded me how inconsistent I had been lately in regard to my medicine, usually forgetting or being far too drunk in the evening to remember to take it. A habit I swore to myself I would promptly fix.
By the time we finished, I could see from the half-shut curtains over by the far side window that the sun had begun to rise, the room illuminated by its soft orange glow. During the entire time I talked, my father hadn't said a word, not even a question. He simply sat there in silence, taking it all in with unbridled focus. That was, of course, until I mentioned how long I was expected to have left.
"A couple of months." He suddenly whispered before he broke into a humourless laugh, a laughter filled with only pain and sorrow. "A bloody couple of months." He managed to once again repeat, his laughter having been replaced with a heart-wrenching sob. "How does that make any fucking sense? First your mother and now you? It's not fucking fair!"
As I watched my father try to come to grips with the harsh reality, all I could feel was a sense of overwhelming guilt as I remembered how I had never told him how serious my condition was. All I had said was that I was dying. For all my dad knew - and I guess suspected - I could still have had years left to live. Now, because of me and my cowardice, I had taken away a month's worth of time from my father that we could have spent together. Something which I would never get back.
"Dad…" I tried to think of something to say, some way to apologise. Yet every time I tried, my brain would freeze and my tongue would tie, leaving me incapable of saying even the simplest of words. So instead, I just sat there, eyes focused on the floor, unable to even look my father in the eyes. It was at this point that I heard the door behind me begin to open, and in walked the female doctor I had seen the night before.
"Ah, it's good to see that the two of you are awake." She said, the moment she spotted the two of us as she began walking into the room and towards the foot of the bed. If she could tell that the two of us had been crying up a storm, she thankfully didn't mention it.
"Mr Collins, it's a pleasure to meet you. We haven't been formally introduced, I am the doctor in charge of your care while you stay here. I'm Dr. Abidemi. How are you feeling this morning?"
"I'm fine, thank you. You don't need to worry. Think it was just because I hadn't had time to eat much yesterday, but I'm all good now. So am I good to leave?" Hearing my Dad's question, I vehemently wanted to decline such an idea. After all, even though it was clear how much better he looked than the night before, he still looked incredibly worse for wear, still looking both incredibly pale and extremely tired.
Thankfully, it seemed that Dr. Abidemi thought so too. "That's great to hear! Although I'm afraid we would like to keep you here for a few more days, just so we can monitor your condition closely and make sure everything is going well."
"Is that really necessary? How about I just come back if I begin to feel worse?" Clearly, to my dad, the idea of my staying at the hospital disgruntled him more than I originally expected.
"Come on Dad. It'll only be for a few days." I pleaded as I stared into his eyes, knowing more than anyone how much he needed to rest. As well as how if he did start to feel worse again, he wouldn't say a word. Which was probably how he had even ended up here in the first place.
As we stared at one another, Dad was the first to break eye contact, releasing a long-winded sigh as he did so. "Fine. But only for a couple of days." He insisted.
"Excellent. I will come back later today to review your charts, and a nurse will be in shortly to ask what you would like for breakfast." With that, and one last quick smile, Dr. Abidemi left the room with the door clicking closed behind her.
The very moment she stepped out, before my dad could even think to open his mouth, I quickly spoke, speaking the words I had been desperate to say for over a month. "I'm sorry Dad."
The moment the words left my lips, I watched as Dad's attention shifted back to me and his expression turned to one of surprise. Something that gave me the time to raise my courage and continue with my apology. "I'm sorry for how I never truly appreciated what you did for me or how tirelessly you worked. I'm sorry -"
"Adam, you have nothing to be sorry for." My Dad suddenly interrupted. However, it was an interruption I was not going to accept. Not when it came to this.
"Dad. Please, let me say this." I implored, knowing that if I didn't say it now, I never would.
Seeing the small nod he gave, I continued. "I'm sorry for how much of a prick I was and I'm so sorry for not fucking telling you about my condition when I first found out. I'm really fucking sorry." I hung my head low as I finished, unable to even look my father in the eyes from the mix of shame and guilt I felt from remembering how poorly I had been treating him.
Eventually, just as I was beginning to think that he was never going to say a word, he started to speak, his voice having turned back into the hoarse sound it was just before the doctor's arrival. "Son, while I can't say it's not been difficult this past month, you don't owe me or anybody else a fucking apology. Nobody can blame you for how you've been acting, not after what you've been forced to accept and go through." Hearing what he said, looking back up to him and seeing his vibrant green eyes glazed over with tears, staring into my own that were no doubt similar, I realised just how lucky I was to have him as a father.
"There is, however, one thing you need to do." He continued, his hand placed on top of my shoulder. "And that is to stop being so fucking hard on yourself. The past is the past, nothing's going to change that, no matter how much you beat yourself up over it. So forget about it and live in the present. After all, I believe that was something you yourself told me you wanted to do." He added with a smirk while all I could do was nod at his words, knowing that any word I tried to say would set me off and turn me into a weeping mess once again.
"Son, I don't know how we're going to handle what comes next. There's no doubt in my mind that there's going to be many, many bumps down the road. But I need you to know that no matter what, I love you with all my heart and that will never change." He choked out, his earnest eyes never once wavering away from my own.
"I love you too, Dad." That was all I could whisper out as tears started to build in my eyes and a smile appeared on my face. Never before had I felt as loved as I did right then.