Three seconds.
I can still hear it now, that irritating noise that appeared every three seconds, the sounds that determined everything.
The room was filled with people who fought to soak up another sunshine and hear another sound of birds chirping. With him included — there he lay, unconscious, with a tube down his throat.
For once, I saw my hero needing help.
He said nothing, just cried silently. I begged him to speak, to be his usual witty self. But he couldn’t. It was then that I realized that even heroes can be vulnerable too. Seeing him in that state made me feel lost, numb, and unsure. My mind was loud but empty, like a cave with no way out — dark and lonely.
For once, I am in the most bottomless hole, seeing and feeling nothing.
The sight of him stripped of his invincible facade, vulnerable and fragile beneath the harsh glare of reality, made me realize that even the strongest people have their moments of weakness.
He remained stubbornly silent, a stark departure from his usual commanding presence. I pleaded with him silently, willing him to break the oppressive silence with his trademark wit and charm. But all that escaped his lips were silent tears, cascading down his cheeks like a torrential downpour of anguish.
For once, I saw my hero cry, his tears a poignant testament to the depth of his suffering.
I was adrift in a maelstrom of emotions, my mind a cacophony of conflicting thoughts and agonizing uncertainty. It was as if every demon within me clamoured for release, their tortured screams echoing through the caverns of my soul.
For once, I felt utterly helpless, powerless to ease the torment that gripped my hero’s heart.
That day, I experienced my worst nightmare. I watched as the foundation of my existence crumbled, causing me to feel like collapsing too. He is the compass of my journey, the reason why I have become the driven woman I am today. The satisfaction I feel from delivering great news and seeing the sparks in his eyes when I accomplish something is worth more to me than all of the Nazi’s treasures combined.
Despite feeling like I was standing on the edge of a cliff with nothing but darkness beneath me, I knew that my dad would want me to continue reaching new heights and ticking off my lists.
I longed to feel some warmth and connection when I reached out to touch his hand, but all I felt was the coldness of his skin, sending shivers down my spine. Suffocated by the weight of my emotions, I wanted to scream and shake him awake from this nightmare. Yet, in that moment of utter despair, I heard a whisper so faint it was almost imperceptible. “I’m proud of you,” he said, his voice barely audible above the hum of the machines. Those words, so simple yet so profound, pierced through the darkness like a ray of light, illuminating the path ahead.
I knew what I had to do. I had to carry on his legacy and live my life with purpose and passion. I stood by his bedside, holding his hand in mine, knowing that our bond transcended time and space. His love will always be with me, guiding me through the darkest of days. Tears streamed down my face as I whispered the only words that mattered, “I love you, Papa.” I prayed with all my heart that he would come back to normal and be the strong, wise, and loving father I had always known him to be.
