Visiting My Father
Created | Updated Jul 30, 2003
This piece is related to the previous Post article called Abandoned in which Vicky relates her anger at being abandoned by her father at an early age.
We sat in the car... my mother leaned around as far as she could and asked if I was OK. 'Yeah, sure', I said, not actually knowing how I felt.
I reached down and unfastened the buckle on my seat belt, swung my legs round and stepped out of the car. I closed the car door as my mum wound the window down. She looked me dead in the eye and said 'Don't do this because you feel you have to, but because you want to'. 'I won't mum'. I looked across to the drivers seat and saw my dad. The look on his face appeared to me to say 'be careful'. I nodded, stepped back from the car and waved.
I turned and began to walk towards the door. I didn't watch the car of my parents turn and drive away, but I began to falter. Was this something I should be doing? Should I ring them now and get them back here? I took a deep breath and walked through the door.
Once inside I looked at the board for the names of the various rooms. I rattled my brain trying to remember what my sister had said it was called. I ran my hand down the board, and there... there it was. I looked at the direction the arrow was pointing and followed its instructions. I turned left at the corridor and saw the ward infront of me.
Ah, a loo! Many times has a loo been my saviour in my lifetime and this would be one of them. I darted in and locked the door behind me. I went through the motions of using it, although not really needing it, but nerves were beginning to show and I needed to calm down.
After a few minutes in there, I looked at the lock on the door. 'I could stay in here the whole hour and no-one would know' I thought to myself. 'I could pretend I went in.'
My sister had been here the night before and faced her ghosts of the past, but did I have the strength? I had been in this situation 3 times before. Each time, I was rude, arrogant, and extremely, extremely angry. But now I felt like a little child not knowing what the best thing to do was.
No mirror. I couldn't look in a mirror to check and see if I was OK. Oh well, he'd have to take me how I came I suppose and with that, I unlocked the loo door and stepped out. The door swung behind me and, with a loud 'thunk', closed.
I looked at the door again, took a deep breath, and walked through...
Inside was calm and cool, with a breeze gently playing with pieces of paper on the notice board. I saw a sign saying I had to make my presence known to the Night Sister... I saw a desk, but no-one there.
I turned a little to my right and a face I had only seen 3 times in the last 18 years stared right back at me. My heart jumped. I even felt a little sick. On the bed lay a man who was dying. A man who needed to show regret and remorse for the past 18 years.
I jumped as a nurse asked if she could help me. 'I'm fine', I said 'I'm just here to visit my father'. She smiled and nodded and walked away. I turned back to my father and slowly walked towards him. I leant forward and kissed him on the forehead. At that moment, all that anger and hate I'd held inside me flew into the wind. How could I hate a man who was dying? Could I really be that spiteful? The answer was no.
I sat down in the chair beside him and watched as he fumbled with the controls to lower the bed. The tumour in his neck made it so he'd lost most movement in his left hand and his right hand and feet trembled constantly. I wanted to reach over and help him, but if he was as stubborn as me, I wouldn't have wanted that help. I refrained myself and just watched.
His cough sounded bad, and his face had a bluish tint to it. The cancer in his lung made it difficult for him to breathe properly. This was most certainly a man who was dying.
Over the next hour we chatted about 'stuff'. Nothing of any importance. I reached deep inside to find the feelings I was searching for, but I couldn't find it. All the way through the hour that we chatted, I was still reaching inside. Desperate to find what I wanted. It wasn't there.
At the end of the hour I took hold of his hand, stood up and said 'I'll see you soon'. I leant forward, kissed him on the mouth and on the forehead. He tried to squeeze my hand, but couldn't. In a quick intake of breathe he murmured the words 'I love you'. This time I didn't doubt it. 'Take care' I said, placed his hand on the bed and walked away.
As I sit here now I try to make sense of last night. What did I actually feel for him? Love? No. That emotion wasn't there. Fondness? How could I be fond of a man who had abandoned me so long ago? Pity? Possibly.
Perhaps in time, if we have the time, I could learn to have affection for him. I know I don't have much time to do it.
I will see my father again. I have decided that much. But for now I will leave the memories of last night at my front door.
