White Everything was white even the sunlight that had shine through the windows. When visitors walk in they try to hold in their gasp, but it was the worse sight to see. The room held white walls in every direction and sadness and content, but also tons of beeping machines. Chairs were filled with family members praying and tell him to push through, but this is something you can’t unsee. Next to the bed sat a black small table with bright colorful and cheerful get well soon balloons and flowers that he would never receive, and by their sat his luggage that he will never have to use again. A blue gown covered his body, the room just sent a constant reminder. As visitors left they would always make sure to leave a prayer with the family and
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A tan blanket sat on his body while two bed rails keep him from falling out a bed. His mouth held a tube ,needles and many more tubes had picked and prodded his body, his once dark freckles fade as if they were never there. The room held tons of heaviness, and the feeling of eyes always lingered there almost as if a stalker was watching. Every so often his heart tried to escape out of his chest. The little movement of my father trying to fight the breathing machine. There was a pain of heartbreak as he laid there, pale faced and a slight pale pink to his lips. Doctors walked in and out of his room checking on his vitals. His eyes stayed shut, but sometimes when you looked hard enough it seemed as if he was trying to open them ,but as soon as you tell a doctor they would say it's just the breathing machine and you would go back to be disappointed. Some of the machines made different noise, some make noises like a phone alarms and others sounded like a warning alarm. The doctors had his arms and legs wrapped just in case he tried to wake up. On the bed there were buttons that would light up telling what vitals were up and down. On his feet were nothing but those tight black wraps. My heart went out to him because he was always cold and I knew he
A tan blanket sat on his body while two bed rails keep him from falling out a bed. His mouth held a tube ,needles and many more tubes had picked and prodded his body, his once dark freckles fade as if they were never there. The room held tons of heaviness, and the feeling of eyes always lingered there almost as if a stalker was watching. Every so often his heart tried to escape out of his chest. The little movement of my father trying to fight the breathing machine. There was a pain of heartbreak as he laid there, pale faced and a slight pale pink to his lips. Doctors walked in and out of his room checking on his vitals. His eyes stayed shut, but sometimes when you looked hard enough it seemed as if he was trying to open them ,but as soon as you tell a doctor they would say it's just the breathing machine and you would go back to be disappointed. Some of the machines made different noise, some make noises like a phone alarms and others sounded like a warning alarm. The doctors had his arms and legs wrapped just in case he tried to wake up. On the bed there were buttons that would light up telling what vitals were up and down. On his feet were nothing but those tight black wraps. My heart went out to him because he was always cold and I knew he