Richard

Richard

I sat by my dad in his bed, gazing down at the old adamant man who wouldn't even let me take him to the hospital. To be honest, there seems to be little to nothing done by the doctor at home here and his condition remains the same. 

His eyes were shut and his facial structure was so bony and thin. He looks fragile already and pale. I have never in my thirty years of living seen him sick or at least, this severely sick. 

"Hey, dad. How are you holding up in there?" I asked and he managed to form his lips into a thin weak smile that barely even appeared on his face. 

"I'm doing a pretty great job," he answered back and I shook my head. It doesn't even seem as though he's doing great. He looks so pale and unalive. He looks like he could pass out at any stressful chance that he's given.