Because someone elsewhere posted a story of their experience.

It had been a week since I had last talked to him. When he was first put into a room, he had no phone. He moved to a room with a phone, but no one gave me the number within the two days he was there.

It was Wednesday. I went to bed excited the night before. I had worked on my papers ahead of time to hand in and skip my afternoon classes to go see him at Temple Hospital. Half an hour before my alarm went off, my phone rang.

It was my sister frantic. "I'm coming to pick you up now," she had noticeably been crying, "be ready soon. Something happened with dad."

Dread. That sinking feeling. He was still alive, that much was certain, but nothing good could come from this.

40 minutes to wait. I have 2 papers to hand in.

I take the papers to College Hall, my first professor isn't there. I go to the second one. 30 minutes have passed, my thoughts keep racing, my heart pumping. I walk down the hallway to her office, and knock on the open door and step in, she was having a discussion with a student. I looked at her, emotions on my sleeve and nothing but a blank stare and barely audibly get out "I have to give you this now, I won't be in class. Can you give this to my other teacher too."

She says ok, and as I walk out "Is everything ok."

Landmine.

I was twenty and a half years old, yet I became a ten year old. The flood gates were open and I couldn't say anything. I choked out "My dad, he..." She said it was fine, "Just go."

I walked out of the building as my sister called me. She was right down the road. I cross the street and waited for her to pull up. I got in, awkward silence of emotions. So much emptiness you could not breath.

Cardiac arrest, she told me. "They will explain more when we get there, he has to go into surgery."

A simple checkup. Testing, turned into a week stay at the hospital. His heart attack four years before turned into a constant battle with the change of drug prescriptions and testing at various hospitals. He hated hospitals. We hated them for him.

My sister and I finally reached the hospital. Our brothers were soon to follow, one with our mother in tow.

We were pulled into a small waiting room, almost like in a meeting. Hardly a word at all spoken to eachother.

10 minutes they said. It took them 10 minutes to bring him back.

As if our hearts hadn't dropped any farther, we found out there was more to go.

The definition of irony: your doctor in a meeting going to fight to put you higher on the heart transplant list, and yours stops. The official who was talking to us -part saleswoman part... yea - presented the few options available, one being an artificial heart that was a new procedure, pushing it like a car salesman.

I let everyone else do the thinking. The more I had listened, the more in shock I became.

4 hours passed by. He was finally taken to surgery. I called my night class professor - answering machine. Without my voice breaking, I inform him that "There's a family emergency, I'm at the hospital right now and I cannot take my exam tonight. If I can tomorrow, that would be great." I left my phone number. Later on I received a voice mail saying I can. One good thing so far.

Three hours had passed, and two packs of cigarettes among 3 of the 5 who smoked. No news yet. Night time had come.

They finally finished surgery. Our hopes rose.

Another hour had passed, our hopes deflated. The doctor came to talk to us.

Not so good.

Not breathing on his own, a machine helping him breath: the epitemy of the worst has now come. Consider myself heartbroken.

We were allowed to see him, even though he was unresponsive and hooked up to various machinery. It was also unknown if he even had a functioning brain, being that taking ten minutes of resuscitation offers no guarantees and various brain damage. We walked into the room as a family, not knowing what to do. We crossed the foot of the bed to an area away from wires, seemingly stepping back farther in fear of what was in front of us.

That was not my father.

"There is some swelling due to the surgery."

It did not look like him. Wires everywhere, tube taped to his face going down his mouth.

"Say something positive, he could still hear you." I wanted to smack my mother, but I could not move. Only cry.

Everyone stepped up to him and said something and kissed his forehead or cheek. I could not move forward. We left.

Going home I passed out. Felt nothing.

Took my make up exam, handing it over to my professor and explained the situation. The need to vent, to talk to someone, for someone to listen. I stood there in tears, again almost not being able to talk. The look of awkwardness across my professors face, not knowing what he could or should do. I finish what i had to say and walk away.

I hid in my room. My sister called me. No improvement. "We have to make a decision..." She did not want to say this. I did not want to hear it. My mother called "You should come home and be with family." No, family would make me hurt someone or something. I was better off at school.

I snapped at two people. Kept to myself. Few knew the entire situation, others only from being told by them. I had still gone to our theater performance, having to work on it. I did not go into the prayer circle, only to the door for a cigarette. I broke through the circle and storm out of the green room, worrying some, scaring many.

I knew what was to come yet the next day I hid from it. I finished my classes, avoiding that questions from the teachers, but giving short "...nothing yet" responses.

Lunchtime with my girlfriend and friend. My brother called me. I knew what it was. He sniffled in between words. I went silent. 12:15 pm, Friday. I put my phone down. Body went stiff. That empty feeling returned.

I threw my chair back and walked out, said nothing to anyone. A ten minute walk was ahead of me. Half way I started breaking down - sobs in between steps. Not many students were walking around, lucky, I had no more composure. I called my friend, knowing she would be close by. Tears in my eyes, I found her with our other theater friends, asked her to go somewhere private. Basement in the student union.

I cried. Only cried.

I never got to say goodbye.