I remember white

I remember when I first walked into the hospital, everything was white. I remember the white latex gloves and white Cotten gown that I was enforced to wear. I remember the white walls of my fathers room, how I wished there was a painting to draw the eye. I remember the white of his sheets, the tubes sticking in his arms, the white monitors beeping lazily. I remember the pigment in my fathers skin had gone white from illness. I remember the cancer that developed in his white blood cells. I remember frowning at the bleakness of everything, it was much too barren for my eleven year old taste. I remember spending the night in the hospital, my father thrashing in his sheets screaming in agony. I remember nodding silently when his thin white fingers pointed out various military personnel that only his deteriorating brain could see. I remember the white chocolate covered pretzels I had shared with my father. I remember laughing till my diaphragm was sore and the color was returning in his white cheeks. I remember the white cigarette buds my aunt would flick into the pavement when we'd go out for air. I remember crying in another room when the lady with white hair gave suggestions on how to cope with death. I remember the white icing of his 33rd birthday cake, my family and hospital staff happily singing in unsoulful harmoney. I remember leaving the white room the last time I saw my father, his meager smile and departing words "I love you baby, I'll see you next weekend." I remember the trip up north I took in the white car, and the happiness I felt from the distraction of all of my troubles. I remember the black and white text of the Facebook blurring from tears as I realized my father had two days to live. I remember the blinding agony I felt when I realized he wouldn't be aware when I called him. I remember the guilt of never savoring my time with him, of never saying goodbye one last time. I remember another blurry Facebook post that informed me of my fathers passing before my mother could inform me herself. I remember the white rage at my mother for letting my brother stay ignorant to his fathers death for two days after. I remember burrowing my face in my hands when the white coffin was gently submerged into the Earth.