The Embers of the Day.
“Stop fussing Freda. Let the boy come in.” Papa lay back against the pillows wheezing, his skin looked paper thin, his frail hand reaching across the bedspread, quilted by his wife all those years ago. He remembered its many blue and white pieces and the hours it took her to stitch it, in the early years of their marriage. The breeze from the open window was a welcome sensation across his face.
“But you heard what the doctor said Papa, you need to rest.” Freda tidied the covers of her father’s bed and took his hand. It was hard to see her father like this; he had been such a strong support for her over the last few years. Even since the old man’s eyesight had failed, he hadn’t stopped taking care of the family.
Papa turned towards her and taking her hand in both of his said, “Freda, my time has come, we both know that rest isn’t going to make any difference. Let the boy come. Let him brighten the final hours of an old man’s life.” Papa was prepared for what lay ahead. The thought of death didn’t frighten him. He was tired. He would be reunited with Anya, but he feared for those he left behind.
Freda knew there was no point in arguing, in truth, her father was right, but she didn’t want to believe that the end was so close.
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