I can't think of a time in my life when I wasn't scared of the future. All these events deserve their own space on the shelf: starting a new grade, high school graduation, or getting fired for the first time. Now I just have to figure out a way to make more space for more fears. I married five years ago, and Jacob will be here in four months; I've never known such fear or resentment. Fear, because I'm not sure if I can care for another life; I can barely take care of two. Resentment because Sarah is bound to find out I'm a fraud and a waste of her time.
I used to come here as a kid and loved it. There was so much to do. Sometimes Sarah and I would just sit on the grass and look into the horizon and feel ourselves existing while the world went on by. That seems like such a long time ago.
It looks surreal, lonely, and intimidating all at the same time. It's cold in my hand. I have fifteen tries to get it right, although I don't think it will ever be right.
So I come here. This bench, this park, this sky. The same sky that she and I look at makes me wonder if she thinks the same things. Life is funny sometimes.
"Can I sit here?"
I knew that voice. It was calming and loved. His slicked-back hair. His Dollar Tree aftershave smelled fabulous. I sat there in shock as my grandfather smiled and spoke.
"You don't have to say anything as I imagine this is odd," he consoled. "We all go through things in life that may seem like they weigh a thousand pounds, but when it comes time to lift them, they're light as a feather. I remember I was getting ready to ship out with the 101st Airborne and got held up in Georgia. Turns out flat feet are no good for war. So they sent me home. You wanna talk about deflating an ego? I was sent off with a hero's parade only to return to sad faces and disappointed neighbors. For years I thought your grandmother thought I was a failure. I thought she didn't know about the loose floorboard by the bathroom where I kept the gin. I looked at your father and knew it was inevitable. I couldn't bear putting another me into society. I walked out to the shed, and I saw your grandmother. In one hand, she had the gun, and the other, the bullets.
The sound of the bullets hitting the ground mixed with the silence of her tears was louder than any bomb we could have dropped. I dropped to my knees; I couldn't cry. The disappointment wouldn't let me. As your father lay in his crib, your grandmother told me that your aunt was on her way. I wasn't a failure. I loved your grandmother, your father, and your aunt. I just didn't know how to express it.
We sat with our backs to the shed wall in silence. I felt her head gently resting on my shoulder, her grip on my hand tightened. At that point, I knew I was worth it, and I needed to get some help. It was the hardest decision I've ever made.
At first, the words came slow. Sometimes I didn't want a response, but only an ear. Life is scary. It's scarier when you go at it alone. You're not alone.
It's going to be ok. Trust your heart. Trust her smile. You can't undo the past, but you can write a new story. It wasn't until your father was in middle school and they put on a play of Bambi, and I saw him up there on stage, and I was immediately sent back to that night in the shed when I loaded the gun.
August 9, 1999, I came here to look at the water and remember the day I asked your grandmother to marry me. Five hours earlier, I said goodbye to her as the cancer took her away. I never thanked her for that night in the shed. Uncertainty is frightening, but you owe it to yourself and your family to keep going. Your family is an army, and armies win battles. You have some really great people that want to help you win this battle. Go recruit them."
I sat there exhausted and sad. What seemed like hours had passed as my grandfather talked to me was only minutes in real-time. I didn't know if I was sad or reluctant that I knew that I must be going crazy. I missed my grandparents. I never knew…
"This summer, I hear the drumming…Four dead in Ohio…."
That song. There's always been something about Neil Young that reminds me of my father. He was always playing Neil Young, always talking about how many times he saw him live. I guess I really don't have an opinion on Neil either way. He did that record with Pearl Jam, but I still couldn't get into him. It was nice to see my dad happy when he would listen to him, so I just soaked it up. Later in life, I would lean on those memories when things got rough; it somehow made it better.
There was this one time…
Jesus Christ. It's him. My father. I start to cry and attempt to leave, but it's as if a thousand bricks held me down.
"The bench, huh?" His voice pierced my soul. I couldn't move. Hell, I could barely breathe. He's the epitome of evil. I keep asking myself why is here? He continued: "You can't leave. That's not how this works. Hear me out; when I'm done talking, then you can leave. It's no secret that I wasn't the best dad out there. Even now, I live with extreme guilt for what I put you through. But you have a chance to change what you know. I can sit here and tell you I wish things were different, but I'm not going to. I want you to know that I was at the bar when you were born. The police arrested me when your sister was born for disorderly conduct. I saw your little sister turn blue, but I was too drunk to do anything. There wasn't a day that the bottle didn't tell me what to do. You're built differently, though. Your soul is strong.
I can't stress this enough, listen to your heart. Listen to the wind's message; you're loved. More importantly, you're loved by your family, and you know that. That's something that I could never fathom. My family loved me, and in turn, I didn't love them back. I can't take back what I did. No apologies will remedy that. You can't leave early. We see Sarah, we see Jacob, and at times we see you. What scares me is that we don't see you all the time."
It was at this time he touched my hand. It was warm. In a blink of an eye, he was gone. At that moment, I knew it was ok to cry. It was ok to be scared. It was ok to break the cycle.
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