It is a story. name: Cycle of life i heard it from my mom <a>http://urbannetworkdigitalconference.com/</a> <a>http://coopergado.com/</a>

1. Cycle of Life – Short Story Family
I heard my mother calling relatives and friends, one-by-one, on phone and telling
the news in sobbing voice, “They will take out ventilator today at around 3 PM.
You may come to see him before that.”
Cycle of Life – Short Story Family
A week before that day, when he was taken to hospital, my father was helping
grandpa to lie on back seat of our car. I could not forget grandpa’s last
unanswered reply when I, while trying to control my tears, asked my mother
whether he would be all right. Grandpa called me by weak gesture and softly
caressed my hair as he generally used to do. But, very soon, his hand slipped
away from my head, holding left part of his chest to unsuccessfully stop the
rising pain. He was struggling to breathe normally. He was the same man who
once almost ran to market in heavy rain to buy inhaler for me, when I lost the one

2. in school and was little breathless because of asthma I had. But when it came to
him that day I could not do much but just cried. My mother embraced me saying
grandpa would come back soon.
A night before that day, at hospital’s reception my mother was consoling my
distressed looking father to accept the destiny, “it has to happen one day.” I did
not understand what it meant but simply closed my eyes and prayed God to let
my grandpa be well soon. My grandpa once told me that prayers from children
are pure and they surely reach God. But it did not happen, perhaps.
That day, we reached hospital at 1 PM. We went inside. Security at reception did
not stop me that day. I was following my mother trying to meet her pace, climbing
stairs, to ICU where grandpa was admitted. A nurse guided us to a room. After a
long week gap I saw my grandpa — my best friend. Grandpa was sleeping
peacefully on hospital bed. There were many small TV and radio alike boxes with
tiny lights. Few boxes were making “beep-beep” sound in rhythm. I knew that the
sound was fading heart beats of my best friend — my grandpa. Then I saw my
father, with red and swollen eyes, sitting closure to grandpa’s bed. My mother
could not control herself. She started sobbing loudly kneeling at my father
shoulder. My father gently stood up and took my crying mother out of the room.
I was left alone with the most adorable man of my life. I went closure to him,
where my father was sitting just few seconds back. I watched the face of my dear
grandpa. There was no pain — it was calm and composed. Even with few plastic
tubes in his nose and mouth and a white foggy gas mask on it, I found his face
quite charming and graceful. I started caressing grandpa’s hair. I wished that he
utter my name… just once… It was the same mouth that told me so many stories,
every day, until I slept. I was waiting for his eyes to be opened… to see me last
time… but he continued sleeping… these were the old eyes that never got tired
enjoying watching my toys, my drawing, my homework, my mark sheets… Then I
looked at his hand. It was same hand that used to caress my hair. I held his palm

3. in my both hand. I tried measuring my palm with his. Nothing had changed. His
palm was still larger than mine. I touched his index finger… I held it last time…
holding it always assured me safe feeling in busy markets and crowded places…
I took out my inhaler from my pocket and kept it on a nearby table where already
many medicines were kept scattered. I remembered once my grandpa told me
that the inhaler was my life saviour… I murmured in grandpa’s ear, “Don’t worry
Grandpa, you would get well soon. I kept here inhaler to save you.”…
“It’s a boy” exhilarated voice of my father brought me back in my present. Today,
after eighteen years later, on the same floor of the same hospital I found my
father rushing towards a nurse who was carrying a just born baby. “What are you
doing there… come… look at him… he resembles ‘ditto’ your grandpa”, almost
shouted my father in excessive excitement, carefully holding the baby in his
arms.
But I saw my grandpa in my father more than in my just born son. A new cycle of
life has started… to repeat itself once again.
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