A mother and son cope with the sudden death of the head of the household after he died unexpectedly of a rare and deadly bacterial infection called ncecrotizing fasciitis, more commonly known as "the flesh-eating disease".
*A note to the reader:
Some of the words are purposely mispelled; the boy writing the story was crying at the time, and he couldn't see what he was doing for all the tears that were pouring from his eyes.
It has only been a few weeks since my dad, Harold Wilson, died of an awful bacterial infection that took hold of his body and killed him. Even though the doctors and nurses at the hospital he was at tried everything, they still couldn't save my dad, and now my mom, Anna, and I (my name is Regis, by the way; I am 13 years old) are left to fend for ourselves; our lives have been forever and dramatically changed by the death of my dad, and it seems that ever since, all we have done is cry. I am so tired of crying; my eyes really hurt, and it's a wonder I still have any tears left; but then I see reminders of my dad (his room, his clothes, etc.), and it seems that I am crying my eyes out again. It seems that any little thing that reminds me of dad causes me to start crying again. It seems that I am always in a torrent of tears.
My friends have been coming by; they are very worried about me. They know that I lost my dad, so they aren't their usual joking selves around me, and it seems that all we ever do now is sit outside and talk in hushed or sad tones about what happened to my dad, and try to figure out why this happened, and how a tiny little bacterial germ could kill a huge, strapping man of 180 pounds like my dad. But that is exactly what the nasty little bacterium did; it killed my dad, and now I have to come to terms with what has happened and try to go on with my life. I know death is a part of life; that everyone dies at one time or another, but it doesn't make it any easier when it happens to people you know or love, like my dad. My dad and I were very close; we always got along, and we always spent a lot of quality time together. I loved his cherry pipe smell, and I loved his sparkly green eyes and greying hair and his powerful build; and even though he was a very big man, he was a teddybear in personality, and he wasn't ashamed of me or ashamed to tell me that he loved me and mom ("Anna" to him). He was a very good provider (he worked at Wal*Mart in the shipping area, and he loved his job), and he always made sure we had everything we needed. He was also a very good cook, and his Mexican and Cajun dishes were to DIE for! He was married to mom for 15 years; and it was three years into their marriage when I came along. They just celebrated their 15th year wedding anniversary on January 8, and there was absolutely NO warning as to what was to take place in February, the day when dad cut himself while shaving; and a few days later, he was lying in a hospital, fighting a nasty bacterial infection that was very rare and very deadly. Even despite the best efforts made by the medical staff, they couldn't save my dad, and my dad ended up dying. He was just too sick, and the bacteria consumed him like an evil fire. It was wildly out of control, and they couldn't save him.
As I write this down in my journal, I am crying my eyes out, so if you see, mistakes in here; forgive me. but I can't see what I am writing for the tears that are filling my eyes; and it is very hard to write about what has happened to my dad. I still can't believe that my dad was at one minute healthy, and the next, fighting for his very life in a hospital, battling a lethal and very rare bacterial infection that few people have even heard of ("necrotizing fasciitis" or "the flesh-eating bacteria" is its name, or for short, "NecFac", whihc was what the medical staff called it!). He then died a few days later, and now the world as we once knew it is no more; from three people in our family we have gone to two, and now mom is a widow, and I am minus one parent.
When he died, my dad was quite young: he was only 50 years old. He just turned 50 the day before Christmas.
(To be continued.)
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Reviewed by Simon Thurlow
3/12/2004
Superbly written Karen. Mistress of the short story for those who cannot speak out
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A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
