A FATHER'S FEAR

I run into nanny Aisha just a few steps from my room. She is breathing so heavily from running up the long stairway. Poor old lady! This chaos is not good for her old age.


"He is calling for you non-stop, my dear. Please hurry!" Nanny Aisha says this with labored breathing.

I run past her towards my father's room and budge in without a knock.

My heart clenches in my chest as I rush into my father's room, heedless of any decorum or protocol.


"Ellie! Ellie! My child! Where are you?"

The urgency in his voice and the desperation in his cries spur me forward with a sense of purpose and determination that eclipses any fear or hesitation.


"Calm down, Mr. Riccaford. Your daughter is coming."

"E...l...l...i...e! My...my..."

The doctor's efforts to calm him are met with little success, their words falling on deaf ears as my father continues to thrash and cry out in agony. It is a harrowing sight, one that fills me with a sense of helplessness and despair as I watch him suffer before my very eyes.

"Dad! I am here, Dad!" I call out, my voice raw with emotion as I push past the doctors and race to his bedside, my hands reaching out to grasp his trembling form. His wild thrashing sends a surge of panic coursing through me.

The sight of him writhing in agony, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, cuts me to the core. It is a stark reminder of his vulnerability and of the frailty of the man who has always been my rock and my anchor in times of trouble.

"Easy, Dad, easy," I soothe, my voice a gentle murmur as I gently stroke his fevered brow, willing my touch to offer him some measure of comfort. But his cries only grow louder and more desperate, as if he's fighting against an unseen enemy that threatens to consume him whole.

He becomes still, but he is almost losing the breathing count. His chest is heaving up and down so slowly amidst lots of struggle, I guess trying to pull the remaining oxygen left in his lungs.

"Papa!" I call softly with a heavy heart. He doesn't say a word. I restlessly turn to the doctor. "Doc, what is happening?" I ask the doctor who is connecting the life support machine to my father.

"He suffered a mild cardiac arrest," he explains.

What?

I let Dr. Lemuel finish his work first. I wait until he is done, and my father is now sucking the oxygen from the machine peacefully, steadying his breathing. He finally calms down, and my heart slows the pulsing pace a little. That was quite a scare! It is a scare.

"He will be asleep for an hour," Doctor Lemuel explains.

"What triggered it? He was sound asleep when I left a few minutes ago," I implore.

"Fear, perhaps. He woke up asking for you, and my attempts to calm him down were all in vain. He kept calling your name and asking for you."

"But he knows I am back, and I told him that I am not going anywhere."

"This is common in his condition. If I may ask, do you have issues? You know, like a disagreement or something? He seems so scared of losing you," the doctor asks.

"Not exactly, but there is this one issue that has dragged on for far too long. It is what he wants us to talk about, and I am scared," I explain.

"Well, maybe it is high time he gets it off his chest. Try to resolve it in the most peaceful way possible and as soon as possible. This could affect him so much, depending on how he takes it. Be careful, okay?"

"Should it be advisable for him not to speak at this time? I mean, just to be on the safer side."

"The first step to healing from depression is offloading all the piles of things and weighing them down. If he is willing to talk it out, it is a good sign. You just have to know what to say and how to react."

"Okay, doc."

He pats my shoulder.

"Everything is going to be okay." He smiles as an assurance, and I fake a weak grin that sends him out of the room.

As I watch my father's struggle mirrored in the rhythmic beeping of the life support

I reach to my father's room and I barge in without notice, almost falling inside with the door as I struggle to stabilize myself and also catch my breath. 'Father?" I hum faintly with my breath tucked in my lungs, my voice getting hooked at the throat.

Silence, is the response I get.

My beloved father does not respond. He is just lying here in the same position that I put him in an hour ago. His eyes are open, and the only thing that is preventing me from knuckling under this surging fear is because I saw him blink once just now.

I hobble my frail legs to the edge of the bed and slam into my accustomed spot next to him. I run my fingers through his pale face, trying to summon that smug he always managed to force out whenever I can into this room, but there is no sign of it. No reace of it at all.

"Father? I am here now. Did you want me to get you something?" I ask, a tear almost falling but I scour it away. 'Wait, I will get your meds," I say as I try to get up because I don't want him to see me this way. I should be strong for both him and I like I have always been. I shouldn't break down. I shouldn't show how helpless I am growing because of his situation.

Unfortunstely, his weak arm catches hold of my trench coat before I could take a step away to organize my emotions. I turn to him, holding his arm.