The Life After
Photo from Google
Lorenzo Mari O. Ramos
The Journalese
Father looked pale as the light revealed his worn out face. He had been crying all night again, I suppose. It has been like this ever since the night he came home from the hospital. From that time on, he was never the same man I knew.
My father was a happy man. He worked hard and delighted in life’s simple pleasures. He loved me and my mom very much. From the mornings before he used to leave for work, until, tired and fatigued, he returned home, a radiant, affecting smile was always present on his face. Days have passed since I last saw that jovial smile in my father’s face. I really miss it.
While I sat there reminiscing, father stood up from his chair to begin his daily routine. He would go through the motions of his day to day life. His day would begin by eating breakfast with me. This was always such a great beginning to my day since this was the time when I usually see the glowing smile on his face. Now, all I see is a scowl etched on his weary face. I used to enjoy watching him eat heartily as he made faces at me from across the table. Now, he would just chew and swallow his food slowly while staring down the bowl of cereal, his eyes seemingly void of emotion. I doubt that he can even taste the food now.
I couldn't bear watching him like this anymore.
“Dad…”
I tried to speak, but the words felt heavy. My chest started to tighten and my throat felt strained. My vision was starting to cloud; I was beginning to cry. Before I could say more, he stood up, walked away, and ascended the stairs, most likely to get ready for work. I continued to sit there, grinding my teeth, trying to keep the tears from falling. After I had calmed myself down and finished my breakfast, I started to clean the dishes – I needed to get ready for school anyway. But, even as I did my best to keep my mind busy, my thoughts drifted to the predicament. “Mother”, I whispered. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.
As I was finishing up, I heard father come down the stairs. The sound of his old leather shoes against the wooden staircase was distinct amid the air of silence. I went outside with him to see him off. We stood beside each other at the corner of the street waiting for the bus. Even if I was beginning to show the signs of my age, father still towered over me. As we stood there, even if I was right beside him, he felt so distant and foreign to me that even if he was my father, he was as much of a stranger to me as the man who had altered our family’s life.
It was a weekday. I was in school that time when father came and said that I would be away from school for awhile. During that time, I thought we would be going on a family trip like the last time he picked me up from school. But we weren't We took a taxi to the hospital where we usually go. I thought it strange that we were going to the hospital when I wasn't even sick – it was even peculiar that we didn't use the family car.
We reached the hospital after several minutes. During the whole trip, I was still puzzled and clueless – why were we there? My father spoke to a nurse, and she led us to a corridor and into a room. Then I saw mom lying down… and it all made sense.
A few days after, we buried mom in a nearby cemetery. We sold what was left of the totaled car to pay for some of the costs—the man who caused the accident paid for most of the expenses. He was as old as my grandfather when I came face to face with him. He was crying that time, and so was dad. During the burial, dad was silent and soft spoken—I was shouting and crying for my dear mom to be back.
As the bus arrived, I watched as my father went on board. It sped away, and I was left alone with my thoughts. Even in my youth, I knew that the accident had changed my family’s life. That it had not only taken the life of my mother, but that of my father as well. J
The Journalese
Father looked pale as the light revealed his worn out face. He had been crying all night again, I suppose. It has been like this ever since the night he came home from the hospital. From that time on, he was never the same man I knew.
My father was a happy man. He worked hard and delighted in life’s simple pleasures. He loved me and my mom very much. From the mornings before he used to leave for work, until, tired and fatigued, he returned home, a radiant, affecting smile was always present on his face. Days have passed since I last saw that jovial smile in my father’s face. I really miss it.
While I sat there reminiscing, father stood up from his chair to begin his daily routine. He would go through the motions of his day to day life. His day would begin by eating breakfast with me. This was always such a great beginning to my day since this was the time when I usually see the glowing smile on his face. Now, all I see is a scowl etched on his weary face. I used to enjoy watching him eat heartily as he made faces at me from across the table. Now, he would just chew and swallow his food slowly while staring down the bowl of cereal, his eyes seemingly void of emotion. I doubt that he can even taste the food now.
I couldn't bear watching him like this anymore.
“Dad…”
I tried to speak, but the words felt heavy. My chest started to tighten and my throat felt strained. My vision was starting to cloud; I was beginning to cry. Before I could say more, he stood up, walked away, and ascended the stairs, most likely to get ready for work. I continued to sit there, grinding my teeth, trying to keep the tears from falling. After I had calmed myself down and finished my breakfast, I started to clean the dishes – I needed to get ready for school anyway. But, even as I did my best to keep my mind busy, my thoughts drifted to the predicament. “Mother”, I whispered. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.
As I was finishing up, I heard father come down the stairs. The sound of his old leather shoes against the wooden staircase was distinct amid the air of silence. I went outside with him to see him off. We stood beside each other at the corner of the street waiting for the bus. Even if I was beginning to show the signs of my age, father still towered over me. As we stood there, even if I was right beside him, he felt so distant and foreign to me that even if he was my father, he was as much of a stranger to me as the man who had altered our family’s life.
It was a weekday. I was in school that time when father came and said that I would be away from school for awhile. During that time, I thought we would be going on a family trip like the last time he picked me up from school. But we weren't We took a taxi to the hospital where we usually go. I thought it strange that we were going to the hospital when I wasn't even sick – it was even peculiar that we didn't use the family car.
We reached the hospital after several minutes. During the whole trip, I was still puzzled and clueless – why were we there? My father spoke to a nurse, and she led us to a corridor and into a room. Then I saw mom lying down… and it all made sense.
A few days after, we buried mom in a nearby cemetery. We sold what was left of the totaled car to pay for some of the costs—the man who caused the accident paid for most of the expenses. He was as old as my grandfather when I came face to face with him. He was crying that time, and so was dad. During the burial, dad was silent and soft spoken—I was shouting and crying for my dear mom to be back.
As the bus arrived, I watched as my father went on board. It sped away, and I was left alone with my thoughts. Even in my youth, I knew that the accident had changed my family’s life. That it had not only taken the life of my mother, but that of my father as well. J