“Your son is here,”
she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the
patient’s eyes opened.
Heavily sedated
because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed
Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine
wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man’s limp ones, squeezing a
message of love and encouragement.
The nurse brought a
chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed. All through the night the
young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man’s hand
and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that
the Marine move away and rest awhile.
He refused.
Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of
the night noises of the hospital – the clanking of the oxygen tank, the
laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans
of the other patients.
Now and then she
heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly
to his son all through the night.
Along towards dawn,
the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding
and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited.
Finally, she
returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted
her.
“Who was that man?”
he asked.
The nurse was
startled, “He was your father,” she answered.
“No, he wasn’t,”
the Marine replied.
“I never saw him
before in my life.”
“Then why didn’t
you say something when I took you to him?”
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