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COMP-01
Miss Cook
December 5, 2017
As his beaten and broken body laid upon the mattress that we brought him because he
could not make it to his bed, I looked upon him wishing I could take his pain away. I found
myself wondering why him? Why not me? Papa lived a good christian life he was a great
minister and an even better man. How could something like this happen to him? He began to be
fed through a tube attached to the machine that was keeping him alive after the removal of 70%
of his stomach. He was fighting a long battle with cancer, this being his fourth stage 4 cancer
battle in his 16 year battle with cancer. The tissue box in Mamas house began to be passed
around and the sight of tears falling down my family's faces. The sound of the door creaking and
slamming as friends of Papa came and visited him in bed. The sound of the fire alarm going off
because Mama forgot to crack a window and he letting out a cuss word always gave everyone a
slim bit of laughter in these tough times because she didnt cuss much but when she did it was
Papa never lost his love for the outdoors and church in his last days you could see him
listening to the hunting channels and the sounds of the revolvers blasting, the sound of boats
cruising across the large lakes and the looks of the people hunting and fishing brought him back
memory of trips we used to take as a family and I think it helped put him at peace. He also liked
to watch local preachers services from when they brought in discs for him to watch since he
could no longer preach like he had for the past 40 years. Which took a lot out of him I believe
also because he wanted to be in front of the pues and gives the messages that he was so proud to
Mama took these times especially hard; I remember her crying the week before his death
over a kitchen knife in the house. She cried because papa used to always sharpen the knives for
my mama and she could not imagine losing the love of her life. At one point during his
treatments he dropped all the way from 250lbs down to 140 lbs in less than a matter of months,
he looked so weak and yet acted strong all at once with the way he handled it. I look back and I
can still remember the words he uttered to me the last time I saw him before he died. He said to
me, Be grateful. I still wonder why those exact words was what he decided to be his last. I can
still feel him watching over me from above. I remember mom coming to me after his death and
saying, We have to let him go. He is too weak; no one deserves to live like that. Then I thought
to myself, I should be grateful for what I have and who I have with me on this great journey of
life and maybe this moment will open the pathway for me to live a life like him. But after it all I
can still remember the great times we had fishing together. I flashback to when you would
always tell me, Wait to cast until we get set and away from these trees and I was always so
eager to be the first to catch a fish so I would sling my line out toward the lakes bank and get
caught up in a tree and you would just turn and laugh. He never lost his cool even when he
should have.