It was as if a dagger was stabbing my heart, but forcing me to live through the pain. A chill bolted up and down my spine as I overheard the doctor state that the blood pressure dropped down greatly. I wrapped myself with my mother’s coat as I waited and waited outside room 303. The world was against me was what I thought. Even the ticking of the clock sounded as if it was scratching away “his” time from me. “He” was all that I had after all no one else thought of me. If “he” was gone, then I shouldn’t live. Peering at the small window on the door of room 303, there was a man lying almost lifeless on the small bed with countless doctors looking down at him. Plugged with tubes with strange fluids running through his veins, I couldn’t help but turn away and cry. The pale man on the verge to death’s door was none- other than my dad.

A couple of hours ago, I still remember the confused look on his face. Whenever I visited him, he always asked who I am. It is frustrating that your own father doesn’t know you. However, it is even harder to see him suffering. Each time, he gets paler and paler and skinnier. It was as if a skeleton was lying there hoping to continue living. His right arm was filled with tubes. His left arm was filled with numerous red holes from the so-called “treatment.” As usual the hospital food wasn’t eaten since he couldn’t eat it himself. My family and I did everything. Radiation therapy, and chemotherapy were supposed to be helpful, but it didn’t work. Why did my father have to have brain cancer I thought silently to myself. Why is it that I have to suffer from this? What did I do to deserve this? All of these negative feelings exploded my head until the “beeping” of the machine monitoring my father’s blood pressure was slower.

“Go out for a second,” my mom stated while shaking as a group of doctors came in.

Being a ten year old at that time, I was useless in these situations. Silently, I walked out of the room hoping that it was a nightmare. My dad will live I consoled myself. After all, in stories the problem is always solved, right? My heart pounded as I cried softly. As I heard screams of agony, I covered my ears as I wept louder. This is all a bad dream I thought to myself, but in reality I knew it wasn’t. The doctors are going to come out as usual and say that he is all right. A loud scream echoed in the hospital, but it was someone else. I dropped down to my knees as I realized it was my mother’s yell. Was it all over? He couldn’t be dead, right? He promised that he would stay with me until middle school, right? The sound was a hallucination just like how he forgotten about me, right?

“He is dead.” Those were the three simple words I couldn’t comprehend. Adults always joke around to ridicule children. My father could never die from a disease. Daddy would always be with me. That was the promise, right? All thoughts were lost as I saw the dead body. His eyes no longer glimmer in the light; they were dull. Daddy was just sleeping, right?

“Daddy! Wake up. It is me!” I exclaimed, but there was no response.

Tears rolled from my eyes as I ran out of the room. I heard voices calling out to me, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t “hear them.” “He” was all that I had in my mind. Snow was quietly falling during this February evening, but it was more like knives. I wanted to fall into eternal slumber with the snow until his voice reached out to me. He wasn’t here. You are so cruel, daddy. I should have died instead. The “daggers” stabbed me more and more until I couldn’t take it. “Live for me.” The three words that I never wanted to obey, denied me. Tumbling down to my knees, it felt like a group of thorns was piercing me. It was those words that made me turn back. That is right; I have to live for him. He hasn’t died yet. He hasn’t died in my heart yet. As the snowflakes quietly fell, I dried my tears. This February night stayed with me like the scars from this memory. All the colors I once saw were gone. The snow was no longer pretty; it was dull. Black and white was now my colors and my only colors. The red, orange, blue … all was lost. Despite all of that somehow now that it is over, I feel lighter.

Even after 4 years, this memory still stayed vividly in my mind. Although the thorns in my heart still mutilate me, I moved on. Although I’m still burning incenses, my sorrows didn’t disappear. Despite the fact that the image of death still haunts me, I realized something. My father’s passing will stay within me forever, but it was no longer a burden. It was something I had to accept. Even though it was originally painful, I had to go on with my life. Like the rain almost washes away everything, my heart is healed. That day made me mature. He was my dad not “daddy.” Little by little, I saw colors. The color returned to me. I learned what the word “happy” meant again. The scars from this memory will still be within me since it would remind me of my father. It is all I have left of him. I realized that my father’s decease was never a burden. It was a lesson in life. I’m no longer the little girl crying forever. I’m now a girl who has recovered from the silent, colorless nightmare.