Occasional sounds of beeps filled the sterile hospital room; the atmosphere enveloping the room was one of melancholy as I lay on the hospital bed.
My arms, withered by age, lost strength to the vacuum of time and lay at my sides, too weak to move. My body, once full of strength and vigor, was now at the cusp of death.
To most people this would be a time of reflection and reluctant acceptance, for their death was inevitable.
But to be honest, this couldn't be any slower. "Damn, does it really take this long to kick the bucket?" My voice came out hoarse, but the words came out all the same.
"Grandad, are you deadass?" an exasperated voice came from my right. I turned my head to face the voice, and none other than my grandson was verbally abusing me.
"Like, seriously, who in their right mind wants to die faster?" he said, scoffing.
"Boy, shut your punk ass up—*cough cough*."
The boy let out a sneer; the disrespectful little shit had the nerve to have a pitying expression on his face right after.
"Save your strength, OG. You ain't leaving without saying goodbye to the whole family."
I scoffed, a soft smile gracing my lips. "Yeah, if it wasn't for you guys, I would of been gone."
There was a small, comfortable silence as we waited; there was truly nothing else for us to say to each other.
I took a good look at my grandson. His cute rounded nose was much bigger and more defined now; his soft little cheeks were now more angular and defined; his soft amber eyes were filled with confidence and a deep warmth, no longer the innocent bright orbs filled with wonder that his youth contained; his thick lush afro contrasted well with the ebony hue of his skin. My boy was all grown up.
"Ay, Grandad," the boy—no, little Mike—began to speak. "You remember that time you taught me how to box?"
I let out a soft smile. "Ahh, like it was yesterday," I said with a chuckle. "I remember you, running into my house, tracking mud and shit. Boy, I was about to whoop your ass before I saw your face." Mike let out a groan. "Man, don't even start. I gave him a sidelong glance. "Well, that's too damn bad."
The next 20 minutes were fueled with me talking, going down memory lane, with my grandson, who pretended he wasn't enjoying my superb storytelling; the little shit was an open book, been that way since he was young, but eventually all good things must come to an end and so started the waterworks.
They came in droves: nephews, nieces, and grandchildren of all ages came. They wept, smiled, laughed, and oddly enough even sang. It was a spectacle of familial proportion, whatever that means.
Surprisingly, the last to show up was the one expected to be the first or second. "Well, well, look what we have here." I said as I weakly began to sit up straight, a mocking smile on my lips, "Looks like Mr. Fancy Pants still has time for my decrepit old ass. " My gaze grows softer. "How ya doing, son?" My son Gareld let out a soft, breathless sigh. His eyes were glistening, yet tears refused to leave them. He slowly approached the bed, his legs buckling halfway through; the moment was so intense that no one within the room, not even Mike's apathetic musing, managed to escape his lips.
Gareld was on his knees at the side of my bed, his arms reaching out slowly, wrapping around my fragile form. He held me tightly as if at any point I could disappear, and he was not wrong; I took a while, but I was fading. My vision was growing darker as I felt the tears of the strong, stout man that I raised. Strong he may be, but he's as soft as baby shit.
I let out what felt like my last chuckle. "I'm so proud of the man you've become," I said, ruffling the last vestiges of my son's hair on his head. "And of the family I was able to nurture, every single one of you here holds a special place in my heart, and from what I see today, I do too. " I lay back down in the bed, "and for that I thank God." My vision slowly but surely began to fade into nothingness. "and all his wonderful works"
My vision went completely black.
A/N: Thank god this is over. I can finally focus on building the story instead of dreading finishing the prologue.