My Mother Locked the Gate on Me

He blinked.

Then he nodded once.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They let us see Harlan after seven.

He looked wrong in the ICU bed.

My father had always been a large man. Loud, even when he was silent. The kind of person who took up chairs and rooms and conversations.

Now he was gray around the mouth with tubes taped to his skin.

Machines clicked and breathed near him.

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