Page 141 of Last Letters to Ara
William can no longer stand, and I’d begun carrying his slight frame to and from the bathroom. When even that became too painful, I was forced to call in Hospice. He wanted to go before it came to that, but I guess some things aren’t up to choice.
When the nurses arrived, he was still cognizant and he told them I was his son when they asked about my relation. It had sort of slipped out, shocking both of us, before he sheepishly looked to me for approval. Here I was, finally gaining the father I’d always wished for, just to watch him die.
I always imagined death to be tragic, but beautiful. It’s not.
The movies make it seem like something which happens in a breath, a whisper. They don’t add the days filled by screams of pain, the suffering that comes with the organs slowly shutting down. They don’t show you the parts where you’re forced to make decisions for your loved ones that you know they would never choose. There is absolutely nothing beautiful about death.
I’d previously thought I could write about it, do it justice with my imagination. Except after having seen it, I know that there are no words to accurately describe what it’s like to watch the memories of them laughing, healthy and full of life, get replaced by memories of agony and helplessness as they suffer, while you can do nothing but hold their hand.
Their once comforting shoulder becomes skin and bone. Their smiles become a distant memory. You watch their dignity disappear with every simple task which is completed for them, and no matter how many reassuring words you offer, they go with the feeling of being a burden.
I have nothing more than a couple months of basking in this man’s light, but his daughter? She has an entire lifetime of beautiful memories that stood to be tarnished by this merciless disease. A goodbye is an easy trade because I will be haunted by these moments for the rest of my life. Yet I willingly endure, knowing that William will not be alone.
My days and nights have become blurred, only his haggard breathing and the unsteady beeps of machines indicate that time is passing at all. The nurses believe he can still hear me, that he has taken the form of his astral self, so I put on The Eagles and tell him story after story, of faraway places and imaginary worlds.
I wish I could say there was a magical moment, with powerful last words that I could grasp onto forever, but that’s another lie they feed you. This isn’t a movie. This isn’t a book.
With his last shuddered breath, gone is the humor and sound advice.
As his eyes glaze over, gone is the mischief and wisdom.
With his body’s stiff, purpling limbs, gone is his once comforting embrace.
Gone is the life he once imbued into this world.
Gone is a friend.
Gone is a father.
Gone is the light.
Present - Ara
“KILL SHOT.” CONNORlaughs maniacally. “I’m coming for your mother next, asshole.”
There’s nothing classier than the stuff which leaves the mouth of a guy playing a high-stakes, combat video game.
Theo isn’t any better. “Ha! Suck my dick,laserpowder0604.”
Thankfully, the concierge called me instead of Theo this time to warn me of Dave’s arrival. The elevator doors open a moment later, letting Dave into our apartment, letter in hand. Oscar sits next to me, giving Dave a little warning growl to let him know he’s in charge of this turf now.
“Please, cover your ears, Dave,” I say, cringing. “They’re in ten-year-old-boy-who-just-discovered-trash-talking-and-cuss-words mode.”
“We can hear you!” Connor whines before shouting, “What a pussy!”
“I best be on my way, then.” Dave chuckles, handing me the letter before stepping back into the elevator. “Have a good month, Ara.”
“You, too, Dave.”
Their shouting follows me all the way to the hallway, where I make my way to my design room and close the door. I take a seat on the little couch that Theo surprised me with, where I usually sit and speak with my clients (it still feels weird to say that word) about what they’re envisioning.
I take a deep breath and open the letter.
Dear Ara,
It’s November already, can you believe it?
The eleventh month. With that, it is officially the start of the holiday season.
