Did you miss Part I

Sure, he knew the risks involved with being on his own. He was rapidly losing the use of his muscles and so daily routines were becoming more and more difficult. Each day seemed to present its own set of hurdles to overcome, but he knew the time had come for him to face them on his own. And he had! For the past two weeks he had found no circumstance too difficult for him to handle. Nothing except for the writing.

His mother had always been there to write down the words as he formed them in his mind. They would even joke about how she was his secretary taking down dictations. But there had been no one to take down the words in this new world of independence and he was horrified to think of all the thoughts and words that had been lost.

He looked out at the waves and their rhythmic motion across the sea. He took in the freshness of the salty air and laughed at the drunken flight of a wayward seagull. As he watched the life around him, the words poured into his mind. He hadn’t expected it and was taken by surprise. He was panicked at the thought of losing the words if not quickly put to paper, and so he motioned to a young man who was jogging in the hard sand a few feet away. Instead of stopping, he quickened the pace of his workout. Soon a family walked along in front of him and he called out to them, “Please, could you give me just a moment of your time?” Again, no help. The mother pulled the small boy close to her and walked off, periodically looking back as if somehow she expected this man in a wheelchair to suddenly stand and run after them.

Tomorrow: Questions – Part III

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.