the labyrinth we call life

Dad’s terrible singing echoed through the car. “Dad, please stop your lack of tune is detrimental to my ears,” I whined. A deep chuckle made his chest rumble. My lips quirked up, I loved it when he laughed. It made the sides of his eyes crinkle and his face look a decade younger. “Is this how you talk to your father, huh? Huh?” he teased. Dad suddenly lit up, an evil look falling across his face.

“No. No. Don’t even--,” before I could finish my protest, his hand had sneaked over to where I sat and started tickling me. I squealed loudly, wriggling around desperately to get away.

 Then it happened.

One glance up and time slowed.  Several emotions flickered across Dad’s face as we watched a car come barrelling towards us. Shock. Panic. Dread. And the last one which frightened me more than all the others, finality.

He swerved. The car turned in a way designed for Dad’s side to take most of the impact.

 The world spun, or maybe it was just our ride. I hit my head against the window, a resounding crack following. Sticky wetness trickled down my temple, the edges of my vision blurring. The windows shattered, glass flying everywhere. And then the jarring impact of crashing into a tree finally stopped us. Blood dripping into my eyes reddened my vision. My breath came in shudders. I looked towards my dad.

No. No. No.

The corner of his mouth dripped blood, hair matted with the gooey wetness. . His once white shirt was stained red. I sobbed. Dad’s head tilted slightly to the side before he lifted his arms shakily putting them around me, but I didn’t miss his wince or the unnatural way his hips were twisted. Rattled breaths shook him as he pulled away.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay,” he consoled, but I knew it wasn’t.

Dad’s large hand touched my cheek, unshed tears glistening. He whispered, leaving a trail of blood on my face,” I love you.” And then he was gone.

And it was then that I truly knew what loneliness felt like. The pain of my heart shattering flooded my shivering body. I didn’t feel the glass piercing my skin. I didn’t feel my broken ribs. I didn’t feel my cracked skull. I only saw the motionless body of my entire world. My mouth opened in silent scream.

My vision zoomed out. The panicked yells of bystanders fading into white noise. And as my world fell apart around me, I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.

***

Blinding white lights flashed into my eyes as I jolted up. Several people in white coats spoke in hushed whispers. One of them noticed I was awake and stepped towards me. Where was I?

And then the memories came flooding back.

My breaths came in pants. “WHERE IS HE?”I screamed. The pity in the doctors’ eyes made me let go of the few strands of hope I’d clutched onto. He couldn’t be dead. His memories were too fresh in my mind. Too alive.  A nurse came forward tentatively handing me some water, more pity in her eyes.

I didn’t want their stupid sympathies.

I flung the glass at the world. He was gone. What did I do to deserve this? He was gone. I screamed. He was gone. My heart fractured into pieces. He was gone. His last words caressed my thoughts.

I fell apart.

***

ONE YEAR LATER

“Are you Ms. Blake?” the old solicitor asked kindly. I tipped my head at the man in answer. It had been a year since I’d lost my voice. Or rather, I’d stopped using it. “Please, take a seat. I’m Benjamin,” he introduced. I gave a polite smile in return, doing as he asked. After a year of denial and misery I had finally decided to get Dad’s will pulled up.

 Once Benjamin went through all the legal procedures with me, I moved to get up. “Ms. Blake,” he handed me an envelope. I cocked a brow in question. “Your father told me to give this to you in case of…..” he trailed off. In case of his death. My nails dug into my palms. I gave him a curt nod in acknowledgement and plucked the letter from his hand.

It was Dad’s death anniversary today. I tottered over to the car, starting the engine to down to his grave. It was about a fifteen minute drive in the hills. The windows were rolled down; just the way dad loved it. Old fashioned things like fresh air and sunshine are pretty hard to beat, he’d told me once. My eyes squeezed shut. I miss you Dad.

The tears prickled my eyes but I pushed the feeling away just as I had the last 365 days. I hadn’t cried after that night. I had been strong when all I wanted to do was let go. The emotions remained locked up in the vault I called my heart.

The graveyard gates were noticeable even from a distance. I parked my car in the makeshift driveway and hopped out. The doors towered over me. The glossy black paint looked redone and polished. In my arms was a bouquet of cherry blossoms and peonies. Dad had always loved them.

The guard recognised me promptly and the gates swung open. I trudged in. The graveyard didn’t look the clichéd forlorn or melancholy, instead the dewdrops on the freshly mowed grass glistened under the luminous morning rays. The wind caressed the rustling trees. Sparrows pecked at the invisible grains on the ground. Wisps of cloud trailed across an azure sky.

I hated it.

It was beautiful, too beautiful. The unfairness of it all fuelled my resentful thoughts. Pushing aside the bitter emotions crawling into me, I trudged up to his grave.  William Saint Blake, it read. His last words etched in gold on the tombstone along with one of his favourite quotes:

 “Give me but one firm spot on which to stand, and I will move the earth.” –Archimedes.

I moved to place the flowers down and dropped myself onto the ground, the moist grass dampening my jeans. I glanced at the letter I’d subconsciously been fidgeting with. I shouldn’t unnecessarily draw this out. So I didn’t. Hastily peeling off the tape used to seal the envelope, I plucked out a smooth, starch white paper out. My fingers ran along the edges and unhurriedly unfolded it, reading.

Dear Indi,

If you’re reading this then I must be alive no longer. I’m sorry, truly, for leaving you alone. I’m sorry for the pain my absence has made you feel. I’m sorry for how unfair the world has been to you. Simon Bolivar’s last words were “how will I ever get out of this labyrinth?” I believe I found the way out of it, out of the atrocious maze of life. It is to love. Deeply. Unconditionally. And without regrets. Just how I love you and just how I know you will always love me. It is to know when to let go, to move on because holding on means to live in the past when it is a far more courageous act to let go knowing there is a future. It is okay to cry. Its okay to fall apart for it is the cracks that let the light seep in. Move forward. Acknowledge your pain, grow from it and then, let it go. Let me go.

And so I did.

Once the tears started there was no stopping them. I cried, raw and ugly. I cried long after the sun bid farewell into pink hues of twilight. I cried long after the stars began to shimmer in the caliginosity of nightfall. I cried till the bleak golden of the sky promised a new dawn. And when the rays of first light finally fell upon me, I smiled. The breeze embraced the first words I’d spoken in an aeon. “Goodbye Dad.”