Saturday, June 18, 2005

Happy Fathers Day... no matter where they are.

For fathers day... a peek at a later chapter of the story.
In honor of the man who most influenced me, whom I see every time I look into my son’s beautiful blue eyes.

In the small one bedroom apartment, she prepares dinner that evening for her husband, brother in law and his wife. The mood is mellow. She is expecting her first child, the first grandchild on both sides, only a few more weeks to wait.
Quiet chatter, clinking of forks, a sip of water... getting up to do dishes.
The phone rings in the other room.
Her Aunt is on the phone, she cannot ever remember talking to her aunt on the phone, in fact it’s been years since they’ve spoken at all, there is no particular reason they are they distant... it’s just life.
“Are you home alone or is someone there with you?”
No hello’s or how are you’s, not a chance to tell her about the baby.
“Yes... there are people here, why?”
The sister in law has begun the dishes and quiet conversation continues in the kitchen, just out of ear shot.

A small scream, so abrupt that she doesn’t think it came from her own mouth stops the noise in the kitchen.

“Your father has passed away”. Just like that.
No warning, no illness. He didn’t even have the decency to get sick so she could say goodbye.
Selfish bastard.
A million thoughts sear through her brain at the speed of light, but the prevailing one is how unfair this is, she was just getting to know him as a sober man, as a human being, as a whole person. He’d quit drinking only a few months before, maybe that’s what killed him. Details followed, but they were beyond her grasp.
The phone drops to the floor.

Then the pain comes in waves... this is stress,
this is a physical manifestation of the pain in her heart,
but it cannot be labor. She is not ready. She is exhausted.
Not now, please God.
Let’s wait just a few days, ‘k baby? Mommy needs a minute.

Late the following night, she is gazing into the beautiful blue eyes of her new born son.
Those amazing eyes... everyone says they will turn brown, like the parent’s eyes, they always do. But those eyes are exactly the eyes of her father and she will’s the color in them to stay. Steely blue in anger, glints of amber that actually dance when he is laughs, those eyes.
She toys with the idea of naming the baby after her father, but she just can't bring herself to name a child Gilbert, life is hard enough already.

Nearly six months later, the baby’s blue eyes pierce his parent’s hearts with uncommon intelligence. He sleeps through this particular night, while his mother dreams...

She is answering the door, but she is in a house that she has never before been in. She can smell the freshly polished wood floor, the heavy door has a large oval window with deeply beveled edges, it is snowing outside. Her father is at the door, he looks good, better than he’s looked in years actually. It doesn’t seem odd at all that he has come to visit, she’d been expecting him for a while now, waiting at the door with her coat and gloves on. They head down the walk-way to the street, there is no traffic, there are no people. There is a sharpness about the winter air. Walking, talking; discussing life, love and forgiveness. Fatherly wisdom is passed on, she tells him about the grandson he had just missed, but he already knows all about the child. He says he peeks in often.
Father and daughter walk close together on their way back to the house, on the porch they say their good-byes, which are really see you laters. She feels renewed and is very glad he came to visit. The door closes behind her as she enters the house alone. Looking back through the huge oval window to watch him walk away, she’s disappointed that he has already gone from her sight. She is surprised to see that the freshly fallen snow bares only her own footprints leading back up the walk-way.

She awakens in the still night...

posted by addict @ 5:46 PM |

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