Father Sickness
I still remember, quite vividly, that one day about ten or eleven years ago. A family friend had just brought me and my sister home from an outing, and he was walking us into our house. I would soon discover that after walking through my white front doors, I would never be quite the same again – I would finally and completely realize the grave situation that would have the most influence on my life thereafter. Upon entering the house, I could smell a very sour and acrid odor emanating from the living room, and I could also hear a person groaning disconcertingly. As we walked slowly into the living room, a staggering sight met our eyes. There, lying face down on a couch, was my father, with an ashen-faced complexion. His head was completely bald, and his grisly figure appeared enervated. He was gasping for air, and then suddenly, without a warning, he grabbed a blue pan, put his face to it, and just vomited with such vehemence that it really shook me. Before this, I used to think words like “cancer”, “tumor”, “chemotherapy”, etc. – were all terms describing a simple illness that went away as fast as
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