Eyes Like Death

His eyes were red and tired. His eyelids were heavy, his expression vacant. He had been laying in the bed day in and day out for over a year. Most days his eyes remained closed. As they had been taken over by severe cataracts, it was worse to have them open most days. He could hear words. Pieces of familiar sounds, voices, names. Sometimes he could pick up a full sentence or two, but mostly it was fuzzy echos. Muffled sounds though distant megaphones. He'd given up on eating. She still tried, but he no longer possessed the ability to swallow properly. Choking to death had always been a great fear. It had nearly taken his life 4 times in the last year, so enough was enough. Besides, his stomach had shrunk to the size of a walnut anyways. Mostly he was just thirsty. Ice chips. he could never have enough ice chips. He also liked music. He liked to be sung to, especially by his wife and daughters. He liked going outside to sit in the sun. The fresh air was much better than the stale stench of urine and the bleach that was never able to cover it. the food, if you could even call it that, was also terrible smelling. Those three things combined...if he'd still had his stomach, he would have been sick to it. His breathing was so shallow. He had miraculously fought off pneumonia earlier in the summer. He and his family really thought that was gonna be it. Same thing killed his old man 15 years earlier. He fought it, but now he was tired. His wife had been there earlier. He thinks she went to go talk to one of the doctors. "Not much time left. He's fading. Prepare yourself for the end. blah blah blah." He was ready. He'd been ready. He was tired. And miserable. But mostly tired. His youngest daughter had come with her mother to visit. She looked at his eyes. She saw what he felt. They were so red. So distant. Eyelids heavy, expression vacant. She took his hand, "It's okay daddy. You can let go." Her voice cracked. her hands shook."you have been a great dad. I will miss you every day." she kissed his hand. she cried into it. That massive hand. With half it's index finger missing. It was thinner. Much thinner, but still massive. He wanted to touch her face, but all the mental focus in the world couldn't move his hand. A few hours later, after they had left, and he was all alone, he said one small prayer. For his family, the ones he would miss, and the ones he would never meet. Even though it was going to sting, he opened his eyes as wide as he possibly could. One last look. Then he let go.