I remember standing out in the rain. The pain in my heart was too great to stay inside, so I stumbled out into the downpour and stood in the middle of the street. The rain soaked me to the bone in the matter of minutes, but my mind was too numb to realize how cold I was. It was sometime after midnight, so I was the only one out. There were no cars to speak of, no wandering pedestrians. Just me. And my pain. I was going to miss him. My father wasn’t a great man by other people’s standards, I knew that. But he was good to me. He was proud of me, and I saw it in his eyes whenever he looked at me. I remembered how he used to ask me “How’s my son?” when I came home from school and he happened to be there. He wasn’t a man who hugged, or even touched much. Sometimes I got a handshake. But his voice carried his love for me. His voice. It suddenly hit me that I would never hear that voice again, and I dropped to my knees, all the air had left my lungs. I howled then. I raged at the sky, screaming for the loss of my father and his voice. The loss of the love that was no longer there to be heard or felt. Images of his stoic face hovered, his eyes shining even as his face remained solemn. I would never see that face again aside from photographs. Once again I screamed. Dad? Never. Are you there? Never again. Who’s going to teach me? Not ever. Please don’t go. Nothing. I didn’t realize I had put my hand through the window of my car until I heard you beside me. You were yelling at me, calling my name. Something about bleeding. I looked down at my hands and realized they were covered in blood, even with the rain pouring down, they were red. And the car window was shattered. How was that possible? You shook me, and I stared at you but couldn’t place who you were right away. I didn’t understand what you were saying to me, but I saw your lips move, and I heard your voice. Then I heard “… he’s gone…”. I collapsed, I remember hitting the ground but you grabbed me. You held me in the rain, and began to run your fingers through my hair, whispering to me. “Shh…” you kept saying. “Shhh…” I wept then. I mourned the loss of my father while you patiently sat there, protecting me from the pain, but at the same time allowing me to set it free. I don’t remember how long we were out there, but at some point, you gently ushered me back inside. People crowded around to ask how I was, and you politely sent them away, all the time continuing to lull me with an ocassional “Shh…” Most of the rest of what happened was unreal and blurry. I vaguely remember showering, and changing into clothes for bed, you tending to my injuries, and then you leaving only long enough to tell everyone I was alright. Before long you were back, again running your hands through my hair and telling me “Shhh…” it’s all you said. That was the darkest night of my life. And you were the light that pulled me out of it. You were there for me. Once in a while, I wondered why he didn’t answer me that night. In all the stories and movies, they show us that somehow our loved ones find a way to reach out to us one last time. And on the anniversary of your death, I found myself wondering why he didn’t. But now I think I understand. Although it was you out there with me that night, and even though it was your voice that was saying it… I think he was the one talking. I think it was partially him telling me “Shh…” Maybe. I’m going to allow myself to think so at least.
Posted on: Wed, 25 Sep 2013 05:33:00 +0000
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