The Silent Cry!

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Angela Taylor, Florida

I watched the tears roll from his eyes and down his face as I sat in the chair beside him, looking in on the scene, as a spectator; I felt the pain in his heart, as his aged appearance gave room for pity. I took note of how the grey hairs lined his head, mustache, and beard; and the many deep signs of indentation mapped out on his fragile yet aged body; and in a whisper, he quivered through the tightness of his withered lips, “She doesn't want to be here.”

Those soft-spoken yet weak and painful words came from a man who borne the life of several children; only to feel immensely alone during his dying days. How he resented his debilitating health condition and the restrictions it has placed on him.

I turned, to look at the child he was speaking of, namely Lydia; in the most pompous way, she presented a very rigid and disdainful disposition, with a blank stare, void of any humane compassion or empathy, while looking off into the distance as if no words were spoken in an unbothered way. The tears of her aging father was that of a broken man in mind and spirit; however, it did not move her to display any compassion, whatsoever!

I felt a strong sense of disconnect, as I ponder the callousness of her attitude and her lacking the desire to display any form of humane compassion.

I then turned to my left, the woman sitting beside me, his wife, whispered: “What’s wrong?” I started to wonder, could she not see what was going on or was she just grateful that this one child graced them with her presence. Did she think, this was the best thing that could happen to them?

The life of this aged man was full of “nothing significant” for today or tomorrow. He became a very embittered and angry man; yes, angry at the life before him. He wanted out but how could he escape?

Escape! Yes, how was that even possible?
 
With tears draping his face, he looked up at me in a puzzled and complexed manner and asked: “Was I such a bad person?” He started reflecting verbally on a life he provided for his children; he spoke of the many sacrifices he made on behalf of them and the comfort he tried to provide for his children out of love.

The tears begin to drench his heavily soiled undergarments. His clothing was soaked with tears of yesterday; his body jerked in response to the utter pain of despair. His aged face started twitching in an odd kind of way and his face became permanently distorted.

At that moment, a moment that would always be painfully embedded in my mind, he cried uncontrollably like a child, as his body involuntarily jerked, convulsed, and released him from all of his pain and agony.

I watched in horror as life subsided slowly from him; his face had a frozen look of pain as his limp body leaned to one side of the bed grasping onto the soiled sheets full of tears; as the convulsion brought his life to a complete halt — I bent over and kissed him and said, “No, Daddy, you were not a bad person, not a bad person at all.” Good-Bye, Daddy!