Far from death...

As I drive my father to the nearby hospital, some ill-conceived thoughts begin to engulf my mind. A clear portrait of death is tastlessly forseen. Visions of weeping family and friends stand out. Memories of journeys taken played back on cue. My eyes swelling with tears as I manuver the city streets. My father not short of any breath mind you, riding shotgun. I just wanted to have a doctor look at him because he had a minor blackout spell. A number of things could have been the culprit of this episode of darkness. It could have been: his diabetes, low blood sugar level, or even the change of medication which his Dr. initiated two weeks ago. My father, whithin a mere split second came back around, yet my imagination was already conjuring obscure references of death into my subconcience. What the fuck is wrong with me? Having known the clinical staff allowed my father to be seen rather swiftly. It's like knowing the bouncer at the local club, or greasing the hostess with a fin at a show to get primo seats. His blood pressure was normal. His EKG normal. His reflex and motilities normal. My thoughts on the other hand were pretty abnormal. Sitting bedside next to the man that assisted in spawning me, laying there all tubed up like a Borg from Star Trek the Next Generation was pretty stressful. Did I mention that we have been arguing for weeks before the blackout and my dreamwave of death even took place. I could have not said another word to this man and he could have been taken away from me. He would have never heard the sound of my voice again, unless he played his own mental recordings of journeys that he had taken with me. I am such an asshole of a son. All he ever did was care. A famous cleche', but so true, "Live for the day, because tomorrow may never be." "and regret is a bitch!" -vexanimation 2008.