i sat there, steadily hearing nothing. no electronic beeps, no gasps from the oxygen machine, no agonized breathing from his cancer riddled chest. nothing but the earthshaking silence of a bland beige recovery room. the lazy sun threw shafts of 8:30am light in an otherwise hazy room. i sat there, both a million light years away, and yet ten feet from his motionless body.
then there was a frantic possession of nurses that invaded the room, taking his useless vitals, reading the silent machinery, and attempting, in vainly, to resurrect some signs in his body. all that was left on the white hospital bed was fresh sweat stains and his grey skin pulled over protruding bones. his once opposing body was reduced to a cheap halloween decoration, complete with a plastic sheen and cold feel.
silence fell again, not because they stopped working on a hopeless case, or that he was suddenly vital; i was dead to what was going on in the tomb around me. i couldn’t tell you how much time actually passes, or if i responded to everyone in an appropriate manner. i couldn’t even tell you what was going on through my clouded mind.
everything happened so fast and so slow at the same time, both feeling like only seconds had pasted and that i had been sitting in the counselors office for decades. i was there, but not at all present. i must have said the right things with the right intonation at the appropriate time, because next i was in the parking lot headed toward the funeral home.
in between the revelation of his lifeless body and the journey where his husk was sent; in a moment of clarity i remember calling his other son. this is the other son that they unfailingly fawned and fussed over. whom they seemed to focus all their affection on (at least it seemed like that to me at the time), and whom they turned a blind eye to what he did when he thought they were dumb. he was the one who tried out various different sports, got wonderful grades, and was in many extra curricular activities; he was contemptuous toward his family, like he was a criminal and they were the police.
all i got from the conversation was “i’m sorry he is gone, and i am on vacation until thursday.” those barbarous words landed another blow to my already damaged frame of mind; but was so common that is seemed like he was simply going to be late coming home from the movies. he either didn’t realize that i was wading in doubt and sorrow, or he was callous enough not to care. although i was half expecting this rejection, i was still feeling crushed an alone. i felt adrift in choppy waters with no means of navigation. i didn’t even have enough anything to feel angry, that would come weeks later.
the next couple of days were nothing, as if they weren’t even on the calendar. even at his memorial service nothing seemed real. sure, everything was tangible, but yet not entirely there. i remember people hugging me, and imparting wisdoms like “it will get better, and “i’m here for you.” i remember shuddering at the embrace of a family friend, but i could even force a single salty tear. i remember comments like “it was a nice crowd” with the same inflection as if a baseball game was being discussed while grilled hotdogs were greedily being consumed.
i don’t think i am recovered, four years later i still wrestle with not seeming him. true, our relationship wasn’t copasetic in the past, in fact it was deplorable at the best of times;but he, no we, were trying to heal from our past, and taking the time to find out who each other were. he saw how horrendous his actions were, and i saw how unforgiving i was being. that came to an abrupt halt when his body couldn’t take life anymore. i’m just sitting here, now, waiting to recover and start feeling like a person instead of one of like a hollow plastic bag.
my life as a worm 