Disconnect

Photograph Feel Pain by Mehmet Turgut

 

 

Hello! Welcome to my blog. My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, for those of you visiting for the first time. I am a writer of Fantasy, Horror, Suspense and Thrillers. I do, however, have a tendency to mix a little Romance and humor (among other genres) into my stories.
I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In my quest to build my author platform, I have met and befriended a group of incredibly talented individuals. Writers, poets, bloggers, artists, photographers and even singers who are masterful at what they do. I feel blessed to have found them, and I would be selfish if I kept the beauty, artistry and creativeness of their craft all to myself.
So for the next few weeks I will be featuring their art, writings, photography and music along with my own work on this blog. I guarantee you will enjoy every bit of it.
In today’s post I will feature the talented writer and poet Glendon Perkins.

 

 

Glendon wrote this piece when he was struggling with a major decision in his life. His writing touched me deeply, as I am sure it will touch you.

 

 

 

Disconnect

by Glendon Perkins

The nurse walked in, said to me, “It’s time.”

My shoulders slumped. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slow. If I could have prevented the moment by holding my breath, I would have.

I followed the nurse through the door and down the hall. While I followed her through the constricting corridors, I focused on the carpet. There was consistency in the bluish-gray carpet; no change. Soon everything would change.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I hesitated, trying to find the right words. Were there words that could convey how I felt? I’m not sure. I decided a simple response was best. “No.”

“We could try some other things.” Her face was drawn, as though she’d had a long night as well. “I know we could approach the doctor and find something or someone. We could contact Mayo or Johns Hopkins.” Her voice cracked a few times

I read clearing your throat helps to keep the tears from coming. I cleared my throat, my tears stayed back. “I…I…I th—think it’s b—best if w—w—we don’t.” Covering my mouth, looked away.

She hugs me. We stood embracing for several minutes. I broke away first.  Time to finish this.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. My emotions were wound as tight as a guitar string, and the slightest plucking would send me into a chorus of tears.

She stopped in the doorway. Pointing at a laptop on a stand she said, “Just press the DISCONNECT button. I’ll leave you with him.” She gave my forearm a pat and a squeeze before walking away.

Despite the warmth of the room, I felt like I had walked into an icebox. Shivers raced across my body, my blood cold, my heart solid ice.

I felt cruel. Was I the Reaper, the Angel of Death? Wasn’t I about to do what he did?

I walked further into the room, making a wide birth around the laptop. I looked up at the life support monitors. Several lines showed vital functions with jagged peaks and valleys. Some consistently moved up and down, others were furious with activity, their readings jumbled and mismatched.

A web of wires and tubes crossed each other and meandered around stainless steel poles and computer monitors. A respirator with a white corrugated tube led to the intubation line. White adhesive patches connected his damaged brain to the EEG machine with wires of several colors. The room smells of copper wire and plastic from life-supporting devices.

I approached his bed with trepidation and sat on the edge. He lay in a beige hospital gown, blankets tucked neatly around his waist. Clear tape secured the IV catheters to his wrists. The intubation tube connected to the tracheotomy.

I wrapped my fingers his hand, “Dad, I…” The words lodged in my throat.

Wiping my eyes and running nose with my forearm, I found the strength to continue. “The doctors don’t think anything can be—”

I broke down in rivulets of tears, every pent up emotion over the last three months pouring down my face, my head bobbing with each sob.

I was about to turn off machines that kept my father alive. Would I ever find peace again? Would I wake up every night screaming in the darkness? Would every look I received on the street, at work, or from my family and friends be anything but contempt? Worse, what if my dad lay there getting better and the doctors couldn’t see it? Would my dad forgive me? Would he look at me from the Afterlife and ask me, “How could you?”

As my contemplation threatened to destroy me, a voice from the past spoke up.  “Son, I don’t want machines to keep me alive. I am going to trust your decision. Give me peace when I need it.”

I choked back my despair. I whispered in his ear, “Dad, I came here to give you peace. I love you.”

Looking at his face, I wondered if he heard me.

I stood, walked over to the laptop, and stared at the screen for a moment. I raised my had to the keyboard, fingers shaking, palms sweating. I slowly lowered my fingers to the mousepad…I pushed DISCONNECT.

I walked back to the chair and sat down. I rested my head on his chest, placed his hand on my face, and felt his pulse and respirations slow, “I love you, Dad. May you be at peace.”

Would I ever have peace?

~by Glendon Perkins

 

Please check out Glendon’s links below, and if you like smart Horror with lots of suspense, thrills and chills, you’ll love Glendon’s blog novel Buried Alive. It is a must-read for all you Horror fans out there!

http://www.glendonperkins.com

http://www.glendonperkins.blogspot.com

http://twitter.com/glenperk

Photograph by Marie Gloredel 

 

 

Father

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the facade of a brave man as his baby boy entered the world.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What are my duties? There are no guidelines. Where do I start?

The babe in his arms felt so natural, yet so alien. A fire blazed in his chest.

“You are a father now.” The words were jolting, yet pleasing to his heart.

*

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a calm man as his son toddled, taking his first steps.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls? What if he hurts himself? Then I would have failed as a father.

The toddler tottered to him and embraced his dad with dulcet giggles.

As he held his son, it did not feel alien. His heart gave way for love to conquer.

*

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a cool man as his son introduced him to his first girl.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

What if he falls in love? What if she breaks his heart?

He embraced his son and slipped extra cash in his pocket.

As he held his son, it felt like love, and he rested assured his son was smart.

*

His brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched with the façade of a brave man as his son grew and had sons of his own.

As if his mind and body were not consumed by overwhelming fears.

Did I raise him right? Did I teach him to be a good husband and father?

He embraced his son, and they were swathed by the love they both felt.

As he held his son, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

*

His son’s brown eyes deepened into polished onyx, and upon them came a mist of tears.

He watched his father wear the façade of a spent man as he lay on a hospital bed.

His son’s mind and body were consumed by overwhelming fears.

Am I doing the right thing? Who am I to decide when his time has come?

His face dampened with sorrow. He embraced his father.

As he held his father’s weary body and gazed into his dimming eyes, his questions were answered, and he grew calmer.

*

His brown eyes deepen into polished onyx, and upon them comes a mist of tears.

He watches with the façade of a pitiful man as his son reaches for that plug.

He is ready to leave this world and grateful his son has let go of his fears.

As his son holds his ruined body, and he feels the lifeblood drain from his eyes, he knows he has raised him right.

His mind and body are consumed with overwhelming love.

His son has given him the gift of peace, and his happy spirit travels toward the light.

~by Vashti Quiroz-Vega