My Father’s Hand

A story about loss and grief - your feelings about a death you didn’t expect.

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For a long time his gaze stuck to the old, square photo with the typical white border and the 

brownish tones of the 7o ´s, then he put the photo from his childhood back into the old paper

box.

He had forgotten the time. He couldn't remember anymore. Maybe hi didn't want to, either.

How long has it been? He was still a teenager when his father died. He had been on a school

break. In the Countryside. When he left, his father was ok. Then one day his teacher told him

that his father was brought to the hospital. The teacher couldn't say more. He had to return home.

When he finally arrived home, his father was already put in intensive care. Coma. The doctors suspected a ruptured artery. They put him in an artificial coma, that's the procedure. Nothing more to do. Just waiting.

He couldn't remember. What did his fathers ´s hand look like? And his fingers? He took some old photos out of the box again. On the wedding picture he looked very serious, like someone from the

military in front of the altar, in his black wedding suit, next to his mother. No hands to see. Then he 

found an old family portrait in front of their old house, where his father had put his hands in his jeans pockets. He found baby portraits of him, of the baptizing and photos of his Grandparents. But there were almost no pictures of his father.

No, he couldn't describe his father's hands. He could remember his face, and his hair and body shape. But no hands. This memory was like a blank paper sheet. He remembered, that his father worked a lot in a factory. Shifts. Then, he got sick, from one day to the other. Hospital stays. When he came back, he wasn't the same person anymore. He lost weight and his skin was shining pale, and he was always tired. His father never spoke much. They never had discussions or exchange of words. His mouth was mostly shot. Sometimes, on Sundays, when the weather was nice, they went for a ride with the old scooter.

And then, he was gone. From one moment to the other. He remembers the call from the hospital and the tears of his mother. He couldn't talk to him anymore. Or even say ciao, goodbye, I will miss you, I wish you a good journey. The doctor said there was no chance for recovery. The damage to the brain was too much. They decided to switch off the health care machines. And now, he's put into darkness, alone, in the freezer. Maybe he would have taken his warm hand, and speak to him. A last time. Yes, he forgot his father's hand. And its warmth.

By Sugar de Santo

From: Germany

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