Don't Play That Song

His breathing quickened, as he got closer to room 259. Once he was inside the room he looked past the bodies surrounding Pops and the monitors. Dexter slumped down in the nearest chair; he needed a few minutes before he could speak. Sensing but not knowing what exactly was going on, Dexter remained silent just to get a feel for the room’s climate. Pop’s eyes were closed tightly. Dr. Jordan was writing on his chart. Simone was holding and stroking Pops hand, speaking to him in a low soothing voice. On the far side of the room two technicians and two other physicians hovered near the machines and discussed the erratic activity of the monitors. “Is he still with us?” Simone looked up at the sound of Dexter’ s voice. “Is the machine breathing for him?” Silence blanketed the room. Barry recognized Dexter's presence. “Hello, Dexter, I am glad that you are here.” Simone turned around and motioned for Dexter to come closer to the bed. Dexter dropped his cane--his willowy gait moved him to the side of the bed. “Simone, what is going on here?” Simone’s gazed penetrated any barriers of truth. “Is Pops going to be alright?” He searched her face for the absolute truth. “Dexter that is really hard to say and at this point the situation is touch and go, and it can go either way.” Dr. Jordan stepped up and placed a comforting arm around Dexter’s shoulder. “Man, I hate to say this but I think you need to go ahead and let Simone call the immediate family members.” Taking a deep breath he looked directly into Dexter’s eyes. His sigh was long and deep. “I am so sorry, its time for you to prepare to say goodbye.” Dexter, present, but absent, looked away. “I have to keep it real with you my brother. I do believe today may be his last. I can’t say for sure. It’s hard to say Dexter, I don’t want to give you any false hope. He is slipping in and out of a coma. Just stay close to his bedside and talk. He can hear you.” Dexter, stood, with Simone her face soaked with tears as he handed her the phone book. She exited the room without speaking to Dexter. Like soldiers they all poured out one by one behind her. It was the breathing of the machines that smothered his thoughts. Dexter sat close to his dad, then he just climbed in the bed as close as he could get. Dexter looked at the stout man who continued to impact his very being. Dexter locked in a reminiscent trance moved very slow, molasses slow. Interlocking Pops’ fingers inside of his, he gently slid the body over. Cradling his father like he once cradled him, he stroked his head, and started telling him a story. Dexter‘s voice was strong, but comforting as he continued almost in a poetic rhythm. Bianca stood at the door listening to Dexter narrate his life as the son of a strong, leader, role model, mentor, and friend, thanking him, for each of his roles. She rolled her eyes at his bowl of sentimental mush. It was Pops last hour and it sounded like Dexter’s finest hour. Why does he always have to be in the center of every moment? Bianca glanced at her large black watch. She anticipated her younger sister Janelle to walk through the door any moment. Bianca tip toed into the room, moved to the small window, opened one of the curtains and quietly sat down on the other side of the bed. Bianca’s stance softened by Dexter’s lost expression, his eyes bloodshot from crying, she longed to comfort him, but she couldn’t. She grabbed Dexter’s hand to steady him as she prepared to switch places with him. When Dexter’s voice finally came to a pause, her raspy voice did not cloud her words. Taking the hand of the near lifeless body she began to tell the story of a little girl who adored the gentle giant in her life, her daddy. Although many times she knew she disappointed him, she never meant to. She always wanted to make him proud. Before Bianca could get one more word out, Janelle came in singing and sat down at the foot of the bed. Her singing turned into praying loudly as she fought back the urge to break down. Her face was wet, swollen and flushed from crying. Her angelic voice, incurably sad, but clear and determined, reached out for the familiar hands of her siblings. Three hearts sank etched with sorrow, bowed their heads in reverence and grief. Their father their, hero, lay motionless his body never stirred again.