He fought hard to hold the river of tears that was about to force its way down his face, it was the hardest thing he had ever done, acting strong in that situation was close to impossible.
"Men are not suppose to cry", those were the words of his late father, whenever he wanted to cry. So he had learnt to always hide his tears and weakness under the guise of a serious face. but today as a father, all he wanted was to cry, to pour out the tears that were choking him, to scream out the pain that has been consuming him for six agonising months.
His little son's tender face was embellished with a Mona Lisa smile, that failed to hide the pain he was going through. The last six months had made him to realize that his little boy was stronger than him in all ramifications, he had faced his nightmare like a man, he had fought like a warrior, but tonight he is going to lose the battle though he don't know it yet.
Read on daddy, his son urged him to continue reading from the book, "Tales by Moonlight". He wished his little boy would realize that he was not reading from the book, but was metaphorically, telling him the story of the battle he was about to lose.
Did he died? His son asked.
Did the boy survived?
Yes he did, the brave boy survived, and as he bent to kiss his boy goodnight, the tears he had been holding trickled down his cheek and splashed on his son's face.
Why are you crying daddy?
It's nothing, I have a bad eye, I will have to see the doctor.
He left the hospital to meet the old undertaker at the local cemetery to pick a spot for his son.
His wife had refused to enter the I.C.U, she didn't want her son to to see her face, she was bad at hiding her emotions, her words could make him lose the hope that had kept him fighting.
He got the call from the hospital and from his wife the following morning, he refused to answer for he already knew the news they were about to tell him.
He took his time to pick a suitable coffin for his boy, that morning he knew the smallest coffins are the heaviest to carry.
He drove to the hospital with the coffin at the back seat of his car. He got to the hospital which he had become familiar with and embarked on the agonising walk to pick his son's corpse at the morgue.
There is no name like that on my list. The morgue attendant told him.
Check again, he died last night.
Sorry sir, no name like that.
He walked in anger to the ICU that had been his son's home for the past six months. And when he got there he saw his wife by his son's bedside, reading him the story from "Tales by Moonlight"; and his feeding tube disconnected.
He stood petrified as he watched in joyful tears as his son chew his meal for the first time in six months.
