This is my only shot at doing something for him, my only shot at making him happy and proud of me. I want him to cast his beautiful eyes on me and look at me with such love as only his eyes can behold while he gives me that smile that has reshaped my existence ever since I was a kid. I want him to give me that smile this moment and the next such that it never stops. Just like the smile he casted at me when I finished the last morsel of food whilst eating, like he did at me as he held my hand at Mama's funeral, that smile that says "I am proud of you" in hugely big letters, and also "I got you." That smile that means everything.
Just so to ease the ache of the burden on him, I am deciding to do this, I am deciding to do what I have always loved doing but have dropped since Mama died. I am deciding to paint again, my first ever since so long being one of him and Ma.
This is my third day of trying and I have successfully completed the creation, the one thing I think I could say thank you for all the tough times with, for sticking by his messed up daughter even after she called him pathetic. Something to appreciate him for the unflinching love and support. And as I wait for him to come back home, I tried my hands at something else, I tried to create a painting of his favorite place in the home. And it was there that the clock struck seven, without his return. This was unlike him so I started to worry again. Feeling terrible to the pit of my stomach, with the need to puke at the edge of my mouth. Eventually, he came back, in the form of a phone call, some news about my Dad's slump, some news about my need to be at the Emergency unit of the clinic as soon as I could.
How I did it, I did not know, but I know I drove like a crazed fellow. I know no cop would have been able to come after me. I drove like a crazed person, hoping to God against what I feared would be the end game. Take me, Father! Son! Child? Spirit? Mother? Not only to one God did I pray to, but the whole lot of em, seeking for the help of the true of them.
It was in one piece that I drove into the clinic, but it was not in one piece that I met Pa. It was there.
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There doth my Dad lay, with all the tubes in him, they being the reason he's still here with me, being the reason he hasn't gone to meet his first beloved and not left me for devour to this cruel world. As I moved closer to him, I realized how selfish I had been. This man has loved me more than anyone else has for the past twenty some years and I just know his health is failing. As I reached for his hands, I felt the soft and uneasy grasp it held. It appeared to me frail. My Dad, the strongest man ever, seemed weak and frail. His breath ragged even with the machine's aid.
"Father, do not leave me." I pleaded. "Not you too, not after Mama and him. Father, do not leave me." I cried. Weak and shakily, he raised his thumb to wipe my tears off, but No, his strength was not enough. His strength was not enough to wipe my tears away. My miseries mine alone have become, for father lies here unable to care for me nomore. How do I survive this was the last of my thoughts as I lost it and the tears rushed down
...miForte.
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