طفل
It was the third Wednesday of the coldest February on record in the last forty years. As he sat in his car with only the howling wind singing to him from beyond the pools of light spilled by the lonely lampposts, he braced himself for the inevitable. His thoughts returning to innocent days when he believed his father indestructible, as all fathers are to their children at one point. Hands so much bigger and stronger than his own, rough with work, yet gentle enough to instill safety from the scary unknown world. Looking at his own hands he wondered, would his son one day feel the same awe and safety? He took a deep breath exhaling these thoughts and got out of the car. The wind’s song, now a full forte vibrato, with a freezing bite not unequalled.
I'm afraid Dad, I'm afraid because I don't know the world without you and, I don't want to. How can it be without your wisdom, your quite greatness and the strength you've given us all over the years, wanting nothing in return. Please make it Old man!
The automatic doors of the entrance ripped open letting a wave of stale heat break on his face, his eyes finding their focus to the unholy fluorescents. I hate this smell -- hospital - sickness, death. Yet only a month prior that same smell seemed sweeter. As his love brought their son, a wondrous beautiful sum of their best parts, into this world. His father had cried only a single tear when He had passed the little one into his arms. And with a grin from the newly made grandfather to his son, now a father, a torch had been passed silently, it's weight and value immeasurable. The little one, perhaps understanding that a force was at work, if only instinctually, smiled moments from the security of his mother womb.
'Your son is going to know so much happiness' his father spoke in a low whisper. '...and when he falls, you'll be there to pick him up, mend his wounds and make him smile again.’ The words fell onto his ears with the comfort of an embrace, the vastness of encompassing responsibility.
The ICU, forever dimly lit, save the nurses station; the nucleus of the floor positioned so that all twelve patients can be watched by the four nurses ever present, stirred a dread within him.
Mazy noticed him in the hall and smacked a red button to activate the doors. 'Hello there sugar!' Mazy whooped from her station. 'Evening, Mazy.' he replied. The other nurses nodded to acknowledge his presence, he doing the same in return. I wonder if she knows that all the other nurses refer her to as 'lazy Mazy'? Mazy, in his mind, is Aunt Jamaima, come to life to practice nursing.
'He's better today, sugar, but he ain't out of the woods yet! No sir-e!'
Mazy speaks plainly about his father which he's come to appreciate, though at times her happy indifference begs to be scolded.
Now outside his fathers room, he stares at a body he no longer recognizes. 'Well? You gonna stand their like a turnip? Or are ya gonna say hello to the man?’ She smacks another red button on the wall and the door to his father’s room glides open with a “shhh.” He stands at the threshold, Mazy pats him lightly on the back. 'Take your time honey', and she walks off.
He steps in and the doors close behind him eliminating the chatter from the nurse’s station. The room drones quietly with the iambic rhythm of the respirator staccatoed by the beeps of a heart monitor. Flowers seem to frame his father’s bed and a rush of emotion overwhelms him... I didn't know you were so loved by so many. He chokes back the urge to cry, not the time.
Be strong. For him.
He had been doing far too much of that lately. Since the accident he had been too busy trying to will his father back to life from the brink, so much so that he hadn't even allowed himself to mourn for the loss of his mother. She had been in the passenger seat and was killed instantly. Christ, he doubted if his father even knew that she was dead. Though their bond was strong and he most likely knew... Somewhere in the darkness that he was lost in, he knew. He had to.
Now by the bed he tries to bring positive energy, strength, and love to his father. 'Listen here old man, unless you stop this lounging around like this, I'm going to have to stop coming by!’ He looks at his father’s hand, frail, weak, tubes growing out of his veins, keeping him nourished. He takes his fathers hand into his bringing it close to his face.
'Dad... I need you to pull through here. I need you to come back to us!’ Again he swallows the want to cry. This is what impossible feels like. 'I love you Dad; I can't remember the last time I said that to you. I know we say it often, but I just can't remember.’
To his surprise he feels the grip of his fathers hand only for a moment before it relaxes again. The nurses had warned him against false hope: ‘the body spasms sometimes so don't be thinking lofty thoughts, you'll know when he's coming back to us’. But it was enough for him. It was his father telling him that it would all be okay, like he had done so many times before.
He sat silently for an hour, then sensing Mazy looming, stood and bent to kiss his father on the forehead.
'Thanks Dad, I love you. I'll be back in the morning.’
He gave his father’s hand one last squeeze and was gone. Back out in the icy air, the wind’s songs reduced to a lullaby, and he allowed himself hope for the first time in three weeks. Not much but enough to hold on. Keep going.
When he arrived at home the house was dark except for the warm glow of a lamp in the living room. Within these walls a beautiful baby boy slept and she, his everything, awaited his return.
With all my heart, I love her.
'I tried to stay up but I must have dozed off. How is he?’ She said half yawning. Before she was fully standing he took her into his arms, buried his face in the crook of her neck and let himself cry.
'Oh baby it's okay. It's okay'.
Her heart sank as it always did at the sight of her man shedding tears.
'Come here'.
She breathed softly, taking his face into her hands. But when she could finally see him, she realized that through his tears, he smiled.
'He's going to make it. I just know it!’
He kissed her lips, his tears hot on her skin, and the two stood in an embrace gently rocking. She was heart broken, for something deep down told her differently.
He was pulled into the depth of sleep and emerged in a strange place, a terrace overlooking an olive grove. There he sat in an old wooden chair, a gentle breeze making the olive leaves dance. It felt familiar yet he had never been there.
‘Good to see you, son.’
He turned to find his father seated next to him, surprised at how well he looked. He eyes gleaming in the late afternoon sun, the color and life restored to his face.
'Dad, you look good'
His father smiled, ‘Thanks. I've always wanted to show you this place.
And one day, you and I will spend some time here, the real here'
'Where is this place?’
'This is your Great grandfather’s house, this is your house, and these are your olive trees'
He looked out a the landscape. ‘I like it here.’
‘Good’ said his father letting a silence fall.
'Dad, I need to tell you about Mom.'
'No... you don't need to, son.'
'Dad, I really do though.'
'It's okay, I already know.'
'How?'
'Your mother told me. And she also told me to tell you that she loves you very much.'
The two sat, relaxed, taking in the placid grandeur. The sky without the flaw of clouds seemed a surreal blue.
This is peace.
Time neither stood still nor lost itself to the passing. He looked to his father who had been already looking at him for some time. His father smiled then stood.
'I love you as well, son'.
He stood to meet his father and shook his hand, strong again.
'Dad, your phone is ringing!’
'I'll see you soon enough son, but no sooner.’ The old man gave his son a hug and walked off into the grove without looking back.
‘Dad, someone’s calling you! Aren't you going to get that?’
She couldn't sleep a wink that night, restless and anxious. 4:00AM
Her man and her little one slept peacefully without waking for the first time in weeks. Perhaps this calm is what's been keeping her up? Calm.
The thought seemed to relax her body. Her breathing deepened, sleep was about to carry her off when the phone rang.
She would have to tell the man she loved so entirely, that his father had slipped away in the night… beyond dreaming, beyond life.
طفل
If you'd like me post more, please do let me know.
Selah,
JRA
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