The Ugly Straight Line

“Two plus two is not always four in medical sciences…” a doctor was explaining.

The son was not in a state to know the reason, understand the science or listen to the logic; all he needed was his father back from the OT with the breathing lungs and the beating heart.

“What’s next, sir? What can we do now?” asked the son refusing to accept the reality.

“Nothing more. The breath may stop anytime,” said the doctor curtly.

God had the last chance to make the son believe in his power, but God missed the last chance. ‘No, God cannot be more powerful than my honest efforts to save my father,” said the son to himself. Tears were rolling uncontrollably. Breath was choking in the throat. But there was no choice for the son to hide the truth from his mother for a few more minutes. He wiped his tears, requested the breath in the throat to flow and came out of the OT.

“What happened?” asked the innocent mother.

“Nothing, the doctor was just asking me about the medicines we have been using. The procedure will be completed shortly. Don’t worry.”

The son knew that his honest lie will also die soon, just like his father. But the lie also gives a consolation and hope, just like his father had been giving throughout his life.

Finally, the doctors gave up. The bastard impotent God, as usual, was inert. 

The monitor that was connected to the father’s chest and arms was gradually losing interest in producing spikes and dips of the line. It went flat. The ugly straight line finally appeared.

The father who was living WITH the son so far started living WITHIN the son. They sometimes talk: the son weeps and the father consoles; the son confesses and the father pats his back, the son goes blank and the father fills his heart.