father's day
warning: you'll cry like a baby if you read this whole thing.
It being father's day and all I wanted to post up this essay that I wrote about my father when i was like 17. The events therein were from about 5 years previous. I've never reedited this essay because i didn't want to change any of the way i felt when i wrote it. im also posting this in my blog.
Forrest
by: malcolm thomas-gustave
What was the most damaging experience of my eighth year of existence? I learned that my father was sick, and would eventually die from his sickness. I didn't know the hows and whys. I couldn't comprehend that my father was nowhere near death's door and wasn't even sick. All i knew was that he had something that was only discussed out of fear. In my mind all I could imagine was his mind and body being stricken down by this horrible plague called cancer.
My father lived many hours away from me, so I had no way of seeing him on a reugular basis. My mind overflowed with horrible imagery. Would he look the same? Would he be the same? Was anything the same? Would anything ever get better?
My first trip to be with him was a shakey voyage for me at best. I was overjoyed to see my father. I was afraid to see my father. When I finally got there he greeted me with a hug. I was confused, because everything that I thought should be present wasn't there. Standing before me was the same man I had known all my life. He was in no way different.
I loved every moment with him out of fear that the next wouldn't come. Even though he was the same, my mind told me that it was some sort of trick. I "knew" what cancer was and that was not it.
Through it all I was happy that summer. We were together and his illness seemed less ominous as the days grew on. The more I was with him, the more cancer seemed like a nightmare that had never really been anything but a figment of my imagination.
With the summer drawing to a close my fears had been taken away. I felt comfortable with leaving because he had not shown any sign of sickness. All my feelings of hopelessness for the future were gone. I felt as though I had my father again, even though I hadn't lost him.
The next few years went by as all before, I talked to him every week or so and I went down to stay each summer. I knew he had cancer, but it just didn't seem to matter. Three years went by in what seems now like the blink of an eye. The second and third summers at my father's were much like the first. I stayed with my father a lot and we did many things. The fourth summer was unlike all the previous ones.
After four years, I started to forget that he even had cancer. We didn't really hang out as much, cause it didn't seem so important to me to be with him all the time. I didn't really do anything but hang out at his house when he went to do things. I could have gone with him and spent endless hours discussing history and philosophy, but I didn't.
At the end of the summer my mom came to pick me and as we drove away my dad looked at us with a tear in his eye and softly said to his wife, "This is the last time I'll ever see Malcolm." He silently stood there as we drove away and out of his life.
School started up and my life returned to normality. Every week or so we sorta talked to my dad and everything was normal, until one night. I was asleep and was quickly awoken by, "Malcolm, get up we're going to New Orleans." I vacantly looked at her and said, "What?"
My father was in the hospital and could die at any time, so we were going to be with him. We got everything together and left on the saddest trip of my life. Along the way we went as fast as possible. Stopping at a gas station, my mom called to check on my dad while I sat in the car.
Certain events in your life stick out as turning point, events that all other things are seen in relation too. I didn't know it right then but a turning point had been set right in front of me and I was about to step right past it.
She slowly walked back to the car and set down. Tears streamed down her face and she tried to talk. "Mom, what is it?" i worriedly asked.
A serious loss haunts you for days, weeks, months, and even years after the fact. You can prepare yourself day and night, but in that one instant when the light of creation fades no preperations mean anything.
She choked on each word as she slowly said, "Your father's dead." The nightmare had come back and was smacking me in the face. Even though he was dead I could only think of one thing, the last time we had talked.
"Hello, son."
"Hey," I half caringly said while playing a videogame.
"So, how's school going?"
"Ok, I guess," continues to play game.
"Well, what are you doing?
"Nothing really, but can I talk to you later?"
"Sure. I'll talk to you later this week sometime."
"Love you, bye."
"I love you too."
That was the last time I talked to my dad before his death. One day that I just didn't feel like talking and I lost the chance to speak with him forever. Gone were our discussions on the events of the day. Gone were our frequent trips to the movies. But most importantly gone was my father. To the rest of the world he was Forrest Gustave, but to me he was dad.
I knew he was gone, but I still had to know for sure. I stood silent with my aunt and mother in a cool funeral home. The funeral director spoke to us, but his words meant nothing to me as I stared at the casket that enclosed my father. Slowly the top was raised and there he lay in a perfect rest.
At that moment I couldn't pretend this wasn't happening anymore. I couldn't act like this was a dream that I had yet to wake from. I saw the truth and started to hate myself. I looked in my father's face and I no longer saw him, I could only see my own ignorance. Staring back from his cold dead visage was my own selfishness. In my mind I died on that day and was left a shallow husk of what I had been. On the outside everything was the same as it had always been, but my mind lives in constant agony and pain. This is my punishment. This is my fault. I couln't take a little time from my "busy" day and then he was gone for me to never see again. For my mistake I shall live out the rest of my days knowing that my father died thinking that something on TV was more important to me than his vary life.
Writing for this post:
In the years since writing this i've come to see alot more about myself and understand that my father always knew that I loved him. I just wanted to post this to say that if you have the time to spend with loved ones then that's all that really matters because once they're gone, you've lost the chance and youre not going to remember a damn thing that you blew them off for.
peace and much love.
malcolm.
It being father's day and all I wanted to post up this essay that I wrote about my father when i was like 17. The events therein were from about 5 years previous. I've never reedited this essay because i didn't want to change any of the way i felt when i wrote it. im also posting this in my blog.
Forrest
by: malcolm thomas-gustave
What was the most damaging experience of my eighth year of existence? I learned that my father was sick, and would eventually die from his sickness. I didn't know the hows and whys. I couldn't comprehend that my father was nowhere near death's door and wasn't even sick. All i knew was that he had something that was only discussed out of fear. In my mind all I could imagine was his mind and body being stricken down by this horrible plague called cancer.
My father lived many hours away from me, so I had no way of seeing him on a reugular basis. My mind overflowed with horrible imagery. Would he look the same? Would he be the same? Was anything the same? Would anything ever get better?
My first trip to be with him was a shakey voyage for me at best. I was overjoyed to see my father. I was afraid to see my father. When I finally got there he greeted me with a hug. I was confused, because everything that I thought should be present wasn't there. Standing before me was the same man I had known all my life. He was in no way different.
I loved every moment with him out of fear that the next wouldn't come. Even though he was the same, my mind told me that it was some sort of trick. I "knew" what cancer was and that was not it.
Through it all I was happy that summer. We were together and his illness seemed less ominous as the days grew on. The more I was with him, the more cancer seemed like a nightmare that had never really been anything but a figment of my imagination.
With the summer drawing to a close my fears had been taken away. I felt comfortable with leaving because he had not shown any sign of sickness. All my feelings of hopelessness for the future were gone. I felt as though I had my father again, even though I hadn't lost him.
The next few years went by as all before, I talked to him every week or so and I went down to stay each summer. I knew he had cancer, but it just didn't seem to matter. Three years went by in what seems now like the blink of an eye. The second and third summers at my father's were much like the first. I stayed with my father a lot and we did many things. The fourth summer was unlike all the previous ones.
After four years, I started to forget that he even had cancer. We didn't really hang out as much, cause it didn't seem so important to me to be with him all the time. I didn't really do anything but hang out at his house when he went to do things. I could have gone with him and spent endless hours discussing history and philosophy, but I didn't.
At the end of the summer my mom came to pick me and as we drove away my dad looked at us with a tear in his eye and softly said to his wife, "This is the last time I'll ever see Malcolm." He silently stood there as we drove away and out of his life.
School started up and my life returned to normality. Every week or so we sorta talked to my dad and everything was normal, until one night. I was asleep and was quickly awoken by, "Malcolm, get up we're going to New Orleans." I vacantly looked at her and said, "What?"
My father was in the hospital and could die at any time, so we were going to be with him. We got everything together and left on the saddest trip of my life. Along the way we went as fast as possible. Stopping at a gas station, my mom called to check on my dad while I sat in the car.
Certain events in your life stick out as turning point, events that all other things are seen in relation too. I didn't know it right then but a turning point had been set right in front of me and I was about to step right past it.
She slowly walked back to the car and set down. Tears streamed down her face and she tried to talk. "Mom, what is it?" i worriedly asked.
A serious loss haunts you for days, weeks, months, and even years after the fact. You can prepare yourself day and night, but in that one instant when the light of creation fades no preperations mean anything.
She choked on each word as she slowly said, "Your father's dead." The nightmare had come back and was smacking me in the face. Even though he was dead I could only think of one thing, the last time we had talked.
"Hello, son."
"Hey," I half caringly said while playing a videogame.
"So, how's school going?"
"Ok, I guess," continues to play game.
"Well, what are you doing?
"Nothing really, but can I talk to you later?"
"Sure. I'll talk to you later this week sometime."
"Love you, bye."
"I love you too."
That was the last time I talked to my dad before his death. One day that I just didn't feel like talking and I lost the chance to speak with him forever. Gone were our discussions on the events of the day. Gone were our frequent trips to the movies. But most importantly gone was my father. To the rest of the world he was Forrest Gustave, but to me he was dad.
I knew he was gone, but I still had to know for sure. I stood silent with my aunt and mother in a cool funeral home. The funeral director spoke to us, but his words meant nothing to me as I stared at the casket that enclosed my father. Slowly the top was raised and there he lay in a perfect rest.
At that moment I couldn't pretend this wasn't happening anymore. I couldn't act like this was a dream that I had yet to wake from. I saw the truth and started to hate myself. I looked in my father's face and I no longer saw him, I could only see my own ignorance. Staring back from his cold dead visage was my own selfishness. In my mind I died on that day and was left a shallow husk of what I had been. On the outside everything was the same as it had always been, but my mind lives in constant agony and pain. This is my punishment. This is my fault. I couln't take a little time from my "busy" day and then he was gone for me to never see again. For my mistake I shall live out the rest of my days knowing that my father died thinking that something on TV was more important to me than his vary life.
Writing for this post:
In the years since writing this i've come to see alot more about myself and understand that my father always knew that I loved him. I just wanted to post this to say that if you have the time to spend with loved ones then that's all that really matters because once they're gone, you've lost the chance and youre not going to remember a damn thing that you blew them off for.
peace and much love.
malcolm.