One hot summer afternoon my father, James informed me he was diagnosed with lung cancer. There was months of heavy medication then later surgery, after which the doctor gave him two weeks approximately to live. I was so infuriated with my father where I did not speak to him for a couple of days. It was the heartbreaking and ghastly news I had to imagine life without my father. Hospice brought my father home and everybody contemplated on how to exclaim their feelings to my father within two weeks to live. The last two weeks before the passing of my father, James he was hospitalized where everybody came to support him.
James was not livid about his situation, in fact he was quiet giddy with his visitors. My father did not consume a lot of food that my mother would inquire anything special he wanted. December 24, 2006 my mother, sisters and brother came over to celebrate their wedding anniversary for the last time. James was feeling so awful that he could not get out the bed. Everybody knew it was getting closer to my father’s final days. James got married to my mother in Chicago where two years later I was conceived in 1968. Mom and dad told me that was a scary day for them due to the fact; Martin Luther King Jr. ad been assassinated the day before. The people was rioting in the streets of Chicago, we almost didn’t make it home from the hospital.
My father told me he would never forget that day was the scariest of all his days living. Everybody knows Chicago “the windy city” is very busy and sometimes dangerous. But we made it out alive, so James made it to Alabama to tell some of his wild stories. James worked at his uncle gas station attendant on the Westside where hell broke loose occasionally. That’s why I feared for my father life working in a wretched neighborhood.