The Fall

My writing group had given a word prompt and the word was Fall. Being the month of August, this word triggered a memory of an incident that occurred many years ago in August.  The weight of which, I've been carrying for a while. Thought this was a good opportunity to pen it down, considering the fact that writing is cathartic. 

It was the year 2003. The heat of Chennai was as unbearable as ever in the month of August. I had returned from my university after a tiring day. My parents were out and I retreated to the cozy corner of my room. I almost fell into slumber when the shrill sound of the telephone woke me up. I answered the extension in my room in a groggy manner. My 13-year-old cousin’s voice sounded frantic. 

“Are your parents’ home?”

“No,” I replied curtly.  I was about to end the call by telling her to call back later when something she said startled me. 

“Grandpa fell down and he’s not opening his eyes.” 

Suddenly the world around me stopped. I opened my mouth to respond but no words came out. After a while I managed to utter a feeble, “What? How? When?”

“He was walking around the house and suddenly slipped. He hit his head on the floor.”

I quickly hung up and called my dad’s mobile. My parents who were together immediately rushed over to grandad’s place and drove him to the hospital. The doctors after examining him for a few days gravely stated that he had slipped into coma. Weeks went by and there were no signs of improvement. Some days gave a ray of hope while others were dark and dreary. Everything looked bleak especially when he was put on a ventilator. He was clinically kept alive and then asked to be taken home. 

After a lot of deliberation, my parents decided to bring him to our spacious apartment and appointed a full-time nurse. I stood by his side watching him, while a million thoughts grappled my head. I was plunged with guilt for not having gone and seen him when I had the chance to. Just the previous week, my brash 22-year-old self, rebelled against my parents’ request to accompany them to my grandad’s place. “I’ll come next time,” I had said in a surly manner. 

 Months passed and seasons changed. My grandpa’s state remained the same until that one cold night in January.  A dog wailed and the wind blew. I was up that night when death enticed my grandpa to the other world. I stood at the entrance of his room, looking at his lifeless body. 

That fatal fall of his changed the course of things. From that day until today, I had fallen in my own eyes for that impudent folly of mine. The clock wouldn’t turn back. And there wouldn’t be a next time.

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