When The Stars Collide

You ever do something that just feels like it’s the right thing to do, even if you have no idea why? Like some sort of gravitational force is pulling you in it’s direction? Or like something in your very being knows that it needs to be done and there’s nothing you can do to put your body and mind to rest? Almost like you’re compelled to do it?

That’s how I felt as I found myself walking, then stumbling, through the large, open field in front of me. Towards this beaten up pickup truck that had long been abandoned.

With me was nothing but the clothes on my back and my remedy of choice, a bottle of Jack Daniels. Drinking it by the mouthful and doing my best to forget the thoughts and feelings that were tormenting me.

I had gone to the hospital to see my dad. He had been in there for a while. Sick. Dying from cancer that no treatment worked in curing. And because of everything that his body had gone through, he was weak, looked older than he really was, and ready to expire as he lay in that hospital bed. His entire body deathly pale, an aged body much older than his forty three years suggested, and eyes that contained sadness as they knew what was coming. And he was too weak to do anything. Couldn’t raise a hand, could barely manage to stay awake as my mom, my younger sister, and I, stayed close to him, staying by his side in his final moments. The only thing keeping him alive was the hospital life support equipment. And even then, there was no telling when that would fail to preventing him from passing.

Neither my stepmom nor my stepsister knew what to say, so they just said what they always said to him when they visited. That everything was going to be okay. That they loved him. All the stuff that people should say to a loved one when they’re dying, right? Because, what else could you say? What else could you think of saying to them even though there were things you had planned to say? When your mind just went blank from the anguish and you knew you were spouting lies. When who was dying knew that you were spouting lies.

But mostly, they cried. Cried because they were losing him and there was nothing they could do but watch as he suffered his cruel fate. Knowing of how they had done everything they could and it still wasn’t enough. He had lost his fight. The only thing we could do for him was make him as comfortable as possible and be with him before he expired.

I held onto one of his hands to comfort him, to let him know that I was still there with him. That he wasn’t alone. His hands, that once held a strong grip, could barely hold on to mine. They already felt lifeless. Light and ready to slip from my grasp. All the while I told him that he didn’t need to worry about leaving us. That while he might be gone, everything was going to be okay for the rest of us. That our stepmom was still going to take care of Diana and I. That he had taught us so much and that we’d grow into people that he’d be proud of. That the end for him didn’t mean the end for us.

I hoped that gave him some form of comfort as he passed away.

At least he got to be with us. Got to die in what comfort we could offer. Because dying alone would be a lot worse than dying beside us, wouldn’t it? Even if it were hard for us, watching as he withered away, regrets would have been heavy if we weren’t there for him when he wanted, needed, us most.

His death wasn’t sudden. We had came to expect it for some time, but that still didn’t make it easy. Especially for my stepmom and Diana, who cried in hysteria when Dad closed his eyes for the last time and never opened them again. When he took his last breath and the heart monitor flatlined, giving off that dreaded sound nobody wanted to hear. His grip strength hadn’t even changed.

Stepmom and Diana wanted to remain by his side, but I didn’t. I let go of his hand and got out of that room, walking past my hysterical family.

Instead, I walked through the halls of the hospital, looking at all the other grief stricken families of those that were dying and saw that they were a lot like my stepmom and stepsister. Not wanting their family members to die, but seeing that there might not be any other option. Holding onto hope that they’d miraculously recover so that they could continue being a whole family together. And while some might recover, there were others that wouldn’t.

I walked out of the hospital and got into my car, not caring about the rain. The rain that was coming in sheets, just adding to the misery of this sombre mood.

From there, I drove to the nearest liquor store and bought a bottle of Jack, drinking it as I made my way to the empty field that was drawing me in.

These feelings that I was experiencing, I didn’t want to feel them, but there they were. Tormenting me. Making me feel worse than I should have been.

I got to the field, driving down the dirt path that lead to it, before killing the engine and getting out of the car. And it was like how it always was. A sea of grass that was just about empty save for the ruined pickup in the fair distance. Some trash might be laying about, for I was sure that I wasn’t the only one to find solace or freedom or peace in this field.

I made my way to the old pickup truck, but it was easier said than done as the alcohol was taking a heavy toll on my body. Hell, I was sloshing liquid all about and spilling as much on my face and rainsoaked clothes as I drank.

I stumbled through that field, feeling guilty for how I was feeling and continued to drink in order to try and remedy those feelings. Make them right. But no matter how much I drank, I didn’t experience the right feelings.

There was sadness, yes, but only just. In it’s place was mostly numbness, acceptance, and like the entire event was insignificant. Those weren’t the feelings one should have when they lose a father. Especially a father that was kind and loving to you. A father that you were going to miss. But that was how I was feeling.

And that was why I was crying and yelling to the night sky, raging to it, in the rain, holding a bottle of Jack, by myself. Because of that apathy. And it was driving me mad.

Last night, I stumbled around a field before falling onto my back, staring at the endless night of space sprinkled with stars. I closed my eyes and fell asleep in that field as the rain fell on my face and my body sank into the wet dirt and crushed the soaked grass. But today, I woke up in my bed, with my father still alive.