(not sent in time for the deadline)
“Your father’s had a heart attack.”
I processed my mother’s words. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.” I skipped showering but, after a tormented debate, we picked up the food we ordered minutes ago.
The pragmatic doctor told us that while my father was alive and resting, the next 24 hours were critical. Family and friends, who were with him when 911 was called, had nothing more to do but wait. While my father received nourishment through tubes, we huddled around the cold pizza box. What was once comfort food had become rubbery sustenance. We ate in weary silence.