Contributor: Matt Shaner
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I stand at the entrance of the room holding a clipboard with our standard sheet of paper; blank lines and spaces for demographics as if you could narrow down a life to bullet points.
The man is on the stretcher, tubes running from his arms. A younger man leans at his side.
“Matt, is that you?” the man asks.
“It is dad. I’m here.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. Thank god you’re here.”
His wife fills out the paper. Her hand is red around the pen, going white with force.
“I want to go. I can’t take this anymore.”
“I know dad.”
“We had our differences but I love you.”
She keeps writing.
“He wants to go,” she says.
Before I walked in, the nurse told her he would be admitted. His information said he swallowed pills and whiskey. It said he was ranting about returning to Vietnam. The man has a ring of white hair and...
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Author:
Matt Shaner
