The wind felt warm on his face and he immediately began to describe it in his mind. Refreshing, clear, an awakening. “There I go again,” he thought. “Over dramatizing simple things.” A writer, he tended to exaggerate even the most mundane events, and the ocean breeze had been too much to ignore. He laughed at himself as he remembered the three page poem he’d written about the tip of a cotton swab. “I have come a long way.”

He was alone, maybe for the first time in his life. He was acutely aware of the advantages: no lawnmowers outside his bedroom window, no more constant questions from curious children, no more stares from insensitive by-standers. Yes, solitude had it’s advantages, but it had come with a price.

His decision to leave had been hard on his parents, and he wondered how they were handling it now. It had been two weeks since he’d left home, and the move had been hard for all of them. He had watched his parents care for him everyday of his thirty years, and he’d finally decided that he couldn’t put them though anymore. The energy it took to help him through just one day had finally taken its toll on them, and he had chosen to do the only thing that seemed right: he had gone out to try it on his own.

Tomorrow: Questions – Part II

Did you miss Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, or Part VIII?

I couldn’t believe myself! How could I think something; no, even worse, FEEL something like that? How could I be relieved at the sight of my dead father? Even after all these years, I was still a bad son. I hadn’t changed one bit! I was still selfish, still thinking of my own life instead of how I could help solve the problem.

I hated my father! He was doing it again – manipulating me, even from the grave. He was making me feel guilty for trying to live my life. How could he rule my life even after he was dead? I resented the way he could still control me. Hadn’t he ruined my life enough?

I stopped myself, and realized he was gone. He wasn’t coming back, and I regretted that. I regretted all the times I had given up on him, cracked jokes about him, even denied him. I began to cry, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t stop myself. After all he had done to me, I missed him. I couldn’t hate him, no matter how much I wanted to or how hard I tried. Looking at him in the casket, I remember thinking that he wasn’t such a bad guy, and that I hadn’t had it all that bad.

For just a moment, I forgot about the scars. I didn’t remember all the unfulfilled promises and the silent nights around the dinner table. I remembered the mornings and the peaceful hours before supper, and the way he had been during those times. After all, he was my father, and I loved him.

Did you miss Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, or Part VII?

“Dad?” I called out, softly. He just lay there. No movement, no smile, nothing.

“Dad, please talk to me.” Silence, just like when I was a kid. Nothing had changed, except for the fact that this time, I knew he wouldn’t even acknowledge that I was there. He couldn’t. Corpses can’t move.

I don’t know how long I stood in front of the casket. Long enough to remember, but not long enough to forget. I couldn’t believe how many memories could fit in such a small box.

I didn’t cry. It’s hard to cry when you’re feeling so many different emotions at one time. It’s weird, too, to have so many different feelings and how some of them can be so much stronger than the others. Some stayed for a long time, others came and left quickly, but I felt them all just the same.

As I looked at my father’s body, I felt relief. My problems were over. He was gone, and all my problems had gone with him. Even Mom seemed happy. She was no longer trapped. I didn’t have to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable when I visited. I no longer needed to worry about what he would do next. It felt so good, so peaceful, so…wrong.

Tomorrow: Lost time – Part IX