Moment | Jeni Cannon

I sat in the ICU, following the lines of the heartbeats on the monitor with my eyes. Was this really happening? I swear it was someone else's family in that room--- that I wasn't really there and this whole scene wasn't happening. A nurse knocked on the door, and wheeled in a food cart. After the nurse left, my mom explained that they only bring a food cart in when people are dying. Then it hit me again. My dad is dying. So why do I seem to keep forgetting that fact? My brain seemes to be operating on a defense mechanism: forget anything painful. I pick out a cookie from the cart, and in that moment, everything clicked --- my mom, stashing snacks from the cart into her purse; my sister, quietly knitting rows on the new scarf she was making--- this is my family. My dad may not live to see my accomplishments or be there when I graduate college, but that doesn't mean I can't do great things. I'll do them for him.