Nothing Said

In the hospital for treatment of some sort of acute leukemia, my father watches Monday night football. His heart stops during the game. An alarm sounds. My mom and I walk down the hall to his room. Recent on scene, we see a blue light outside his door before we see him. A nurse grabs my arm. This way, she says, and takes me towards a waiting area. I want to be with him, I say, and pull away as a resuscitation cart rolls past. They try to start his heart. They try multiple times with different tools. No revival commences. Recently, I read that remembering the words of the dead is "at best a kind of informed storytelling." This I want not to believe because I want to hear the real words he spoke before the game. Maybe he referenced the teams. No favorite in this game. Let the underdog win.