Christmas mourning 533 words
You stare at the cold, unfriendly hospital ceiling. Your Mom stands at your side, holding your hand oh so tightly. She's been with you your whole life. Through the best and worst she's been with you, and now she's here with you while you're on your deathbed. She quietly sobs as you glance over towards the corner of the plain room. Your brother sits in a chair, his head in his hands. You sadly can't see his face. But you know he's sad that you are going to go before him. You can't remember when he hasn't been at your side, always looking up and smiling at you. Your Dad looks out the square hospital window. His expression is grim while he watches the world pass slowly by. You close your eyes, lean your head farther back into the pillow, and sigh. Your time on Earth is coming to an end. All you can do is wait until your body says, 'No more.' As you close your eyes memories of past Christmas mornings flood your mind. The first image you see it blurry and in sepia tone. But over time, it becomes vivd color. You recongize that is was Christams morning from when you were 5. You see yourself tearing open a nicely wrapped gift. You see it's the one gift you asked for. At the time, it was the holy grail of christmas gifts. Your young self jumps up shrieking with excitement. You hold the new toy high above your head as you twril in a small circle. "I'm so glad you like it. Now please quiet down, I have to start dinner now." You Mom says patting your head. Your eyes sprakle as you look back at her. She then stands up and makes her way to the kitchen. You look over and see your Dad sitting next to your brother. He unwraps a sweater and looks disappointed. He looks up and you and immediately smiles. Then the memory slowly fades away. You outstretch your arm hoping the memory will stay a little longer. But your efforts are ineffective. A new memory of a past Christmas morning is layed out before you. It's actually last Christmas. Many years have past since you were 5, and now Christmas is just about family since your parents considered you too old for toys. You Dad taps you on the shoulder lightly. You turn around and seeing him smiling while holding a small box. You take the small box and open it slowly. Inside are car keys. Your eyes widen before you jump out of your chair and run to the front window. There in the drive way sits a shiny new car. Your brother follows you and gasps when he sees the shiny new vehicle. You throw your arms around your Dad saying, "Thank you! Thank you!" over and over. He gently pats your back before returning to the living room. You feel 5 again. Sadly reliving the feeling doesn't last long. Suddenly your memory is cut short. You're consumed in a thick, inescapable darkness. You try to open your eyes, but you simply can't. You have lost your battle to brain cancer, on Christmas morning.