Day 9. What have been the event horizons of your life - the moments from which there is no turning back?
I breathe deep as Patrick's needle digs into the meat of my shoulder. I close my eyes as I grit my teeth, doing my best to remember her voice, to remember the things she taught me. To trust, to love, to laugh. To give of myself, to help those in need. But I am a sinner. I am a liar and a traitor. I am my mother's son, and I want so deeply to be as good a person as she was. I pray that from this day forward, her faith and warmth, etched into my arm, will forever guide my hand.
...
It is dark this morning in lower Manhattan. Dark with dust and panic and horror. I open my eyes. My body is still, though my insides roil with uncertainty and fear. And I feel something pressed into my hands. I hear a call to help pierce the fog like a torch. The thickness falls away; I hear the screams and tears that surround me. And I know this is bigger than me. My terror, my doubts are insignificant in the magnitude of this moment. And with a burning clarity of purpose, I act.
...
We are at the shelter, and she is talking to the proprietor about the various cats in their care. A wobbly little tuxie starts to rub against my legs; he is looking up at me with lemur-like eyes. I pick him up, cradle him like a baby, and he reaches up with one paw to touch my cheek. All at once I can see the trust this little beast has in me; that he will depend on me to feed him when he is hungry, tend to him when he is sick or sad. And in this moment, for all my untempered wildness and the chaos left in my wake, I want nothing more than to be a father.
...
He is dying. We are gathered around him in the grimmest unity. One brother weeps, the other's face is crumpled as we count our father's final moments. I can feel her hand tighten around mine. Only she knows what I have seen these months I tended to him. Only she can truly understand the weight of my misery, my shame. For she stood by me then. And she will stand by me always.
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It wasn't working. We both knew it; we'd known for a long time now. But it was still so hard, so hard to admit it. I can hear her in the other room as I sit on the edge of my bed. I breathe deep as I take the simple black band off my finger for the last time, as I turn it over in my hand, reading the word 'Catfish' etched into the metal. My future is mine, all mine, just mine, and I had forgotten how terrifying that was. I put the ring down on my nightstand. I lie awake, staring at the empty bed beside me.
I breathe deep as Patrick's needle digs into the meat of my shoulder. I close my eyes as I grit my teeth, doing my best to remember her voice, to remember the things she taught me. To trust, to love, to laugh. To give of myself, to help those in need. But I am a sinner. I am a liar and a traitor. I am my mother's son, and I want so deeply to be as good a person as she was. I pray that from this day forward, her faith and warmth, etched into my arm, will forever guide my hand.
...
It is dark this morning in lower Manhattan. Dark with dust and panic and horror. I open my eyes. My body is still, though my insides roil with uncertainty and fear. And I feel something pressed into my hands. I hear a call to help pierce the fog like a torch. The thickness falls away; I hear the screams and tears that surround me. And I know this is bigger than me. My terror, my doubts are insignificant in the magnitude of this moment. And with a burning clarity of purpose, I act.
...
We are at the shelter, and she is talking to the proprietor about the various cats in their care. A wobbly little tuxie starts to rub against my legs; he is looking up at me with lemur-like eyes. I pick him up, cradle him like a baby, and he reaches up with one paw to touch my cheek. All at once I can see the trust this little beast has in me; that he will depend on me to feed him when he is hungry, tend to him when he is sick or sad. And in this moment, for all my untempered wildness and the chaos left in my wake, I want nothing more than to be a father.
...
...
taking the ring off for the last time. that's the one that really...
ReplyDeleteyou hit that note well. that's kinda all i can say. hell of a job.