Sympathy is Found in Silence, Not in “Me Too” Elaborations

This quote means something to me, specifically in time of tragedy. Although I wouldn't call this situation necessarily tragic. What is tragic about it, is to see my father go through it absolutely alone. And more so, that he won't let anyone in.

I'm sitting at the hospital, fumbling with my video camera. I opt to just keep it running on the night table beside us, although I don't want to be caught in a single frame. I'm afraid of what I look like.

My dad is steady, solving problems effortlessly, not minding anything. He is so obviously trying to keep his mind off the subject at hand. Ordering pizza for the nurses, asking me if I want some chocolate from the vending machine. Acting like a real problem-solver and so sheerly so. He hasn't addressed the camcorder and for whatever reason I didn't really feel the need to ask. I'm not sure if I'm going to go over those reels of footage at all because I'm uncertain I want to live though this again. Understandably so, but still for whatever reason I find it necessary to record.

My mind starts to selfishly wander, I remember this part clearly. I am sitting in a wheel chair because there are no other seats available. My dad has walked off to try and give away some pizza to more nurses. I'm fumbling with the brakes or what I think are them and my grandfather has dosed off, convenient for me because I hate to be left alone in the room with him in his condition.

It begins with me looking down, over him. Noticing his features that are so close to my own father's, all while he sleeps. He is frail, withered, rounding the last lap of the life circle. I hope writing this down counts as some sort of prayer.

I'm having mixed thoughts and flashes of seeing my own father before me, hanging on to life by a thread, when all of a sudden a burst of anger builds up within me and I kick my foot down to the ground off the wheel chair and grip the wheels hard, pushing myself up. I'm bracing myself for a "life's too short" sequence. Cue that now, because I'm about to go walk it off, though the corridors.

I turn the fucking camera off, immediately hating it and myself.

I have flashes of you, sitting at home facing your computer. I see your stance completely-- I bet you are slightly hunched over, with your legs crossed before you. You've got such a definitive body language, or at least I've taken special notice of it. I can imagine you in almost any circumstance.

I'm immediately angered by you; intensely, and I've never felt this way towards you before. My patience had been, up until that point, gracious. So fucking gracious. I can hear myself saying how important your friendship is to me. It wasn't until then that I had come to admit what our friendship had really evolved around. A fucking tricycle. And I was the little wheel that didn't really matter but was still there to balance the weight. And although the lines of friendship are wide and thinly drawn, what I wanted with you-- what we wanted with each other, I'd fairly say, was well beyond those boundaries. [cut]