Grandfather is the glue of the Carter-Mason family. He is the person you would always call on when there is a tough situation. Sixty-two years old, dependable, joyful and full of love for everyone he meets. His name is Chase Mason.
We never thought a day would come where having him in our lives would be questioned. I guess that was our fault for always believing that he was an  impenetrable wall that would never change, right?....
The day started out as any normal Sunday, running around doing errands and housework. My mother and I were in the car on our way to Meijers when she got a phone call from my grandma, in hysterics.
“ Sheryl...Hello, can you hear me?”....” Hello?”
“Hey mom what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“ I’m at the hospital-”
“ Why? Who got hurt? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s your dad, I woke up around nine at night because I heard a thump down the stairs. I got up and saw your dad on his side at the bottom of the stairs…He was so still…...Cheryl I need you to call your brothers and sisters, tell everyone what’s going on, I have to get back inside.” she said in a rush.
“Of course mom, hurry back. I’ll be there as soon as I can….Stay strong, dad’s a fighter you know that.”
“ I know sweetie…” she sighed “I have to go baby, I’ll see you when you get here”
“ Oka-” Mom was going to reply before the call ended.

It took the moment we arrived at the hospital for everything to hit me. Stepping into those doors and  seeing the somber expressions on the other families, I prayed to God that that wouldn’t be me and that my grandpa would be fine.
In the waiting room there were already a couple of family members anxiously waiting for information regarding his condition. I sat down at a chair, slippery and odd shaped while picking up a magazine, that was torn and out- of-date , when my little cousin climbed in my lap. She came up and asked me:
“ Do you think grandpa is going to be okay?
I told her “ Yeah, I’m sure he’s going to be alright, we just need to make sure we pray for him really hard all the time , Okay?.” She told me she would and then went back to her mother.
It felt like it had been hours until we heard the squeak of shoes of the limonium floor, when in reality it had been about a good forty-five minutes. The doctor came out and told us that my grandpa had had a stroke and that he was expected to make a full recovery, but he was still unconscious and  needed help to breath on his own. We then decided who should go back and see grandpa first, each of us taking turns going back into the room to get our chance to see him.
The room was small and dimly lit, it echoed with a low beeeep, beeeep noise, however faint it was, it thundered in my head never letting me forget where I was. A t.v played quietly in one corner, a distraction that have would usually worked had I not be so distressed. I could hear my grandfather’s heavy breathing, and the whoosh of his life support;  the two sounds battling to see which could drive me most insane. I watched his chest move up and down when the realization that he wasn’t doing it on his own hit me dead in the face. That’s when my faith in everything being okay started to waiver and the negative thoughts started to become more prominent.
The ceiling was composed of white, holey, rectangles with random stains of a faded brown. I began counting the rectangles from the front of the room to the back, noticing the dripping water falling in slow motion into the almost over-flowing bucket. It was as if time had slowed and you were looking at things with new eyes.
The smell of sterilizer, antiseptic gloves, and stale coffee burned through my nostrils and littered the air. There is nothing worse than that uncomfortable smell.
The room held a small square window with a dead sunflower in it’s path, looking extremely pitiful as it slouched at an angle; while outside, the trees danced wildly as the rain poured from the sky. Thunder seemed to crackle in the air, the lightning not far behind it , brightening the sky as if the very heavens might split apart.
The plastic chair that resided under me was hard and uncomfortable, squeaking  as I got up and went to grandfather's side, his arm littered with cords left and right. I grabbed his hand which was cold and still to the touch and muttered a prayer under my breath. It was so sad when I noticed how much he had been poked and prodded,  his veins looking frail but bright at the same time.  I heard the door squeak open and noticed my grandma and mother enter in with the doctor. The doctor’s face exuded no emotion for he almost resembled a zombie. I tuned them out watching mindlessly as the lines on the machine moved up and down. My eyes followed the drips of the i.v into his vein, still gripping his hand with all my might.
My grandfather was in the hospital for two weeks, I saw him every day after school, carefully studying his facials and seeing the improvements. Towards the end of the two weeks he was fully breathing on his own but  suffered from a speech impediment and couldn’t feel anything on the left side of his body. He needed physical and speech therapy, while still to this day he has trouble speaking and has to use a walker.
So whenever I start to  get flashbacks of him lying in that hospital bed, so fragile and helpless I take a good look at him now and see him still being able to cook barbecue for the family and wash the car, it brings a smile to my face. It may not be as fast as it used to be but he’s doing it….all on his own.