A Thousand Letters(30)

I didn't know until my eyes found her hands resting in my lap wrapped in mine, so warm, so soft, that connection to her like a breath of life.

When the moment had passed and were all smiling again, the ease and normalcy (that word, that feeling, a thing which I sought and feared) surprising me and somehow not surprising me at all. We slipped into it simply, the fight and anguish burned down and away.

I watched her leave the room last night, saw the gentle curve of her shoulder, the slight curl of her fingers, the tip of her nose when she turned for the hall. She was so familiar to me still, and I followed her almost against my will. There was so much I wanted to say. She'd brought me comfort while exposing a crack in the wall I'd built, and a sliver of light shone through, a warm slice of a feeling I hadn't been lucky enough to find since we'd parted ways.

I wanted to tell her that. I wanted to touch her face, breathe her in, feel her in my arms. But standing there before her with her eyes begging me to speak, the words left me.

The words I had weren't enough. They'd never been enough. They'd never be enough.

But I wanted them to be, always wished they had. She might have even forgiven me, but I didn't deserve her forgiveness.

The afternoon sun spilled in through the window as I read on, the words of Thoreau on my lips, sinking into my heart.



* * *



And each may other help, and service do,

Drawing Love's bands more tight,

Service he ne'er shall rue

While one and one make two,

And two are one;



* * *



In such case only doth man fully prove

Fully as man can do,

What power there is in Love

His inmost soul to move

Resistlessly.



* * *



Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,

Withstand the winter's storm,

And spite of wind and tide,

Grow up the meadow's pride,

For both are strong



* * *



Above they barely touch, but undermined

Down to their deepest source,

Admiring you shall find

Their roots are intertwined

Insep'rably.





* * *



Dad took a heavy breath and released it, and I watched him.

"Want me to keep going?"

He turned his head to smile at me, looking tired. "Lunch?"

Sophie stood from the couch. "I'll get you some. Mac and cheese?"

"Bacon?" he asked hopefully.

She laughed. "Is there any other way?"

He chuckled back, and Sadie got up too. "Let me help you," she said, and they left the room.

I closed the hardbound book. "Feeling okay?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Tired."

"Well, you should sleep after lunch. Once the nurse comes, it'll be impossible. All that poking and prodding."

"Like a science experiment." He smiled, swallowing before asking, "Know when Elliot's coming?"

I shook my head. "I think she's at work this morning. That's what Sophie said, at least," I added.

He nodded. "It's hard for you, with her here." It wasn't a question, but an observation, and I answered it honestly.

"It is. But it's all right. I'm all right."

"I know you'd never tell me otherwise." He reached for his water, glistening as the light shone through it, but it was just out of his reach. I stood and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the water to bring the straw to his lips.

"You're probably right about that. But it's okay. It's getting easier."

"You still love each other."

My heart stopped painfully in my chest, restarting with a jolt. "I'm not who I was before, and neither is she."

"That's true. You've grown on your own, but Thoreau wrote: Above they barely touch, but undermined Down to their deepest source, Admiring you shall find Their roots are intertwined Insep'rably."

Emotion surfaced like an oil slick, slinking with every color. "You're right. But please, don't ask me to dig through that, not right now. It's … I don't know how to sort through her and me. One thing at a time."

He swallowed, gathering his strength to speak. "I won't ask, son. I won't force your hand. Just want you to know I understand. I see you, and her, and your pain."

His words trailed through that oily feeling again, the colors of my emotions swirling in their wake. "I don't want you to worry about me or Elliot."

He laid back, and I set the glass back down, moving the rolling tray close to his bed. "It's easier than thinking about myself."

We shared a silent moment, watching each other. I saw myself in him in large ways and small, counting every similarity as the clock on one of his shelves ticked incessantly.

"Are you afraid?" I asked quietly.

He nodded. "But there's nothing to be done, no way to fight. So, I'm resigned. I feel … feel myself letting go. But I don't worry about me. When I leave, you'll stay. I know … I …" He struggled with the words, frustrated, wanting to communicate, so I waited patiently for him to find his strength. "Fifteen years have passed, and sometimes the pain is as fresh as the second she left us." He closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, reaching for my hand. "These days are about saying goodbye, and the luxury is one I want to take advantage of. I'm grateful for it." The words were labored by the end, his energy waning from exertion.