Reminiscing

I had to pick a topic for my English class that changed my life forever and made me who I am today. I chose to revisit the death of my dad. As easy as it is to write, the words flow freely from my brain, and fit together nicely, the hard part is rereading.
This is only a brief sketch, helping me compose my thoughts and ideas for my future essay, but, after some thought, wanted to post it here as well. It's hard to critic my writing when you don't know the paramaters, but, here are some things to think about while reading:
What am I wanting to say, but don't?
What line appears most important to the meaning of this sketch?
What was the most surprising thing I said or showed?
What part seems the most important? And what needs to be told that isn't?

Thanks everyone. I appreciate your support and help. After all, writing is meant to be read.


Someone once told me death is like a rock thrown into a stream. In the beginning, its edges are rough, and the stream cannot easily move around it. After time, the stream smooths the edges, and learns to move around it. Enough time has passed, where I have smoothed the edges, but it still feels like yesterday. I can watch myself sitting in the waiting room with my brother, grandparents, and my dad's girlfriend trying to remain busy. It has been much too long since I last said good-bye to my father, calming his nerves, telling him we would see him later, and we long him, yet I remain hopeful. After all, it was just an exploratory surgery.

A nurse comes around the corner “We are stitching your father back up, and he will be out shortly.” A relief, or so I thought. Not long after, a doctor comes around the corner and wants to speak to everyone but my brother and I. I begin to freak out, but try not to show it too much. I know something is wrong, but don't want my brother to worry. What seems like hours later and miles paced, my grandfather comes around the corner crying. I know from that moment on, my life will never be the same. I am forced to grow up, and be the shoulder for everyone to cry on. I had to be the glue to hold the family together because no one else was willing to step up. I walk into a small room, and a doctor tries to explain to me what happened. They tell me my father had a starburst of tumors surrounding every organ he has. They attempted to remove the large ones from around his heart, but, couldn’t stop the hemorrhaging. “Can we see him?” I ask. The doctor looks at me, and doesn’t know quite how to react. “Yes, you may.” As he leads us back to the rooms.