A Fathers Blessing

I feel the chill of my childhood tears creep down my spine. So many vulnerable memories begin to rise to the surface. Only be stabbed down with the chilling icicles of reality. His face is faded yet real. Seen but unseen. Has it really been that long?

I struggle to get out of my head as I reach the door to enter the police station. Thoughts swirling in an unclear melody of sadness, tears, and old heartbreak. The door is cool to the touch as I press my hand against it. Slowly opening inward. I stumble across the entrance. Still unable to hold onto a single image.

The station’s warm air kisses gently upon my cooled skin. I enjoy this change for a moment, savoring the soothing sensation before going forward.

The receptionist sits behind her desk, busily working on a file she has spread out in front of her. She hears me walk in and lifts her faded blue eyes from her work. Her voice soft as she speaks out, " Hello, how can I help you?” A genuine smile shines out as she looks at me.

 I shuffle my feet and stare down as I touch my hands together. “Hi, umm yes. I’m Kate Jones? I uh, I’m here to see Carl Jones.” I lift my hand to smooth my hair away from my face. Nervously trying to tuck it behind my ear.

Here face softens as she looks at me, “Ahh... Of course. Will... Will it be just you?” I shift my eyes around and tilt my head as I respond quickly, “Yes, Um yeah. It’s just me.”

 I look around, I can feel the cameras pointed at me, their recording eyes weighing heavily on my shoulders. The room seems to be getting smaller each second as they weight gets heavier and heavier. I feel my face go numb, my throat dry. The muddle of my thoughts taking over. I stand there, motionless, and tight lipped.

The receptionist, she must have been in her fifties. Looks at me with a tender expression. She gently rises and walked over. Tentatively putting her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes gentle and voice soothing, “I can’t imagine what you are going through, but if you need to speak with someone first before seeing him. Let one of the officers know and we will bring someone out to you.”

I hurriedly nod to her and offer a quick, “Mhmm. No thank you. I’m, ah, I’m fine.” Not wanting to linger longer than I have too. I take a step away from her.

Concern etches the receptionists voice as she continues,” The waiting room is this way, follow me.”

She guides me to the right where there is a plain looking door that we walk through. “Please feel free to sit anywhere you like.” She gestures to the seats around the room while she continues to stand by the door, “The psychologist isn’t done speaking with him yet, but once he is and we know he is ready. A police officer will bring you back."

I walk past her, “O, Ok. Uhm. Thank you.”

 My mind feels foggy as I slowly drift into the middle of the room. There is a table in the corner set up with coffee, tea, and water. Maroon chairs dispersed around the room, creating pockets for groups or individuals to sit as needed. A few couches spaced between to let people huddle tightly together when comfort is available.

I approach the table and grab a cup of coffee before I head to one of the lone chairs in the corner. There will be no one else with me today. I’ll be going through this alone.

Never in a million years did I think this would happen. He died. That one moment in our lives changed everything.

My hands tighten around the cup of coffee, my muscles tense. Shifting in my chair, flicking my hair behind my shoulders, and crossing my legs, searching for a more comfortable position. Time stands still as I do the only thing I can, wait.

After an hour, officers come and go, none stopping to talk to me. They all are focused on their work. Oblivious to my presence, alone and waiting, old memories surface. The fan in the corner rotates, blasting cold air into my face and transports me back to an autumn morning 25 years ago.

I remember the cold wild kissing my cheek, how the wet hard rocks felt against me knees as I knelt. The warmth radiating off my dad as he sat behind me, leaning over my back to reposition the gun against my shoulder.

 “Now remember Booger, the middle of the crosshairs are all you need to line up on the target.” 

I rest my finger on the trigger as I try to line up my shot. Nervously, I pull my finger back till the whole gun cracks back violently, releasing a deafening “boom” through the rock query. I drop the gun from my shoulder and look back at my dad. My eyes shine with hope he’ll praise me for my aim.

He grabs the gun from me and looks through the scope, a large smile spreading across his face, “You need to remember to put the safety on once you make your shot. Besides that, you nailed it Booger.”

A deep chuckle resonates from his flannel covered chest as my smile beams up at him. I laugh, not understanding the gravity of his words, only feeling the warmth and happiness spreading in my chest.

His laughter fades away from my memory as another wave of cold air hits my face. All the warmth vanished the day that he left, the echoes of his laughter replaced with the silence I have lived with since that day.

He was my hero, at least, he was at first. But as I grew, I remember how angry I became...

It dug in like a tick and wouldn’t let me go. I stopped looking back with rose colored glasses and faced a hard truth. That autumn image was one of only a handful of memories I have with him in it.

I try to relax my shoulders as I set my coffee down. Over the years my perception of him changed in phases throughout my life. The anger was the hardest part. During that time, I didn’t see the good memories. Only the bad, for a time at least.

All the good was covered up with the images of me waiting.

Waiting.

All I wanted was his time.

Flashes of me waking up early and staying up late. All in the hopes of getting to see him. Even if just for a moment, crowded my head when I was a teenager. The truth this retrospection hurt me deeply. I mostly waited for him, and my insides burned at that.

As the years went on, I learned to look at the whole of him, and not just the fragments I’ve held onto. Letting them go and recognizing who he was, entirely, help me see him for who he was.

He was never a bad man, or a mean father. He was simply a man who had children early in his life. Was a man of the outdoors, and the outdoors was his first love.

That is beside the point now.

I break away from my reflections and I look around the room. Still alone and waiting. No one in a rush to get me. My hands still holding the now cold cup of coffee in my lap. I haven’t taken a single sip. I lift the cup off my lap and tuck it under my chair. Ensuring no feet will knock it over.

The door swings opened, and I see the receptionist stride through again. Walking directly to me.

I fidget with my hands and shift in my seat uncomfortably as she approaches.

“I know it has been a while dear,” she says to me. “Is there anything you would like while you wait? I know we have coffee and things in the corner.” she awkwardly looks at the table, “but I might have some ginger biscuits in the back if you would like?”, her serene eyes provided a calm over the emotional storm of today.

I let my mind rest in the stillness she has offered me, feeling my body going slack with having anyone that is kind nearby. I take a deep breath and straighten my back. My burdens are not for her to lift. Only I can do that today. As warmly as I could I uttered, “No, that’s kind of you, but no thank you... I don’t think my stomach could handle any now.”

Her eyes not leaving where I sit, hold as she seems to think of the right thing to say, “I, I honesty can’t fathom what is going on in that head of yours, I just hope that today provides a blessing to you and your family. What ever shape that it might be.”

With those final words, she departs. Letting her words settle into the space around me.

I warp an arm around my stomach as a churn that thought around in my head. Rubbing two fingers between my brows and letting my thumb settle against my chin. Eventually having my hand cup, the side of my face as I stare at me feet.

Blessing? Could all of these be a blessing?

 When he died, my sister and I were finally at the age where we could start coming along with him. Doing the things he loved. Like fishing, hunting, hiking, and camping. The outdoors was his life.

Yet, we were his daughters in a male dominated world.

The logging camp was not an open world to women. Traditional roles were embedded into its framework, and we were unlucky.

We were women.

The men worked, hunted, and where the head of the households. While the women took care of the trailers and kids. The few who were ambitious worked in the cook house to make food for the men who lived in the bunk houses.

Life was a different world then. Frozen in time and fought against the modernizing world. However, with that came community, family, and love for all who lived in the camp. We all survived together or gave up together.

The truth is if he never died. My mother, sister, and I would of never became the women we are today.

Sarah wouldn’t have dealt with substance abuse. Never becoming the strong resilient mother that she is today.

My mother would have never found her voice, her inner strength. Most likely would have remained unhappy in a life too small for her.

Our lives at first were hard, and I cannot say that we are fully healed from what happened, but we have all accepted it and have shaped ourselves the best way we could from the hand we were dealt. I would consider that a blessing, right?

Would I have loved to of had it differently?

 A piece of me does, because I wish I could take that pain away from my family, but If I am to be honest. It shaped me into a person I am proud of today.

The pain he inflicted has made me more understanding of where people are currently at. I live a life where I try to value and be kind to everyone. He was on the first of many to suddenly pass away in my life. Teaching me to treasure moments, as we never know when that will be the last.

That is a gift I never would have had without first having lost of him.

I feel exhaustion settle as my brain tries to keep up with the emotional twister of today. My hands slump to my side. My chin falls to my chest. I do not have the emotional stamina for this.

I sigh as the fan points in my direction one more time. This time sending me into the faded memory that today will forever change.

I arrive home after running from the bus. My dad should be home, but I cannot find him anywhere. The trailer was eerily quit as I called out for him.

I finally end up in my parents room, only to find my entire family gathered there. My mother on the bed with my sister weeping. My grandparents holding each other. No one says a word to me at first.

 I always wondered why they never called out to me, letting me know where they were.

 It is only now that I realized that they just, couldn’t. It delayed the pain, if only for a few seconds, for me.

I can now be thankful for that.

All these things, the good the bad, happened because he died. Now that fact has changed. He didn’t die, but lied to us all and used the miss identification of the deceased to just, leave. Does that change things? Does it taint all this history? Or is this a blessing?

After being lost in thought for so long, I finally focus my eyes and see an officer in front of me. Clearly trying to get my attention, “Miss?” the young officer approaches me slowly, his mannerisms exhibit a level of caution as he comes near me.

“Hhm?” Not quite words but enough acknowledge to let him know he got my attention. I stare at him. He fidgets a budget with his vest before he clears his throat to speak.

“Are you Kate Jones? The Daughter?” All I could muster at this point was a nod. He uncomfortably shifted under my non-direct gaze. He continues to stand silently in front me as. I realize he is waiting for me to respond to him.

“Umm, yes that is me.” I express to him. My body curling into itself as I look at him. The Officers face turns flush, looking around but not directly at me.

“I am sorry miss, but it appears that he is not ready to see you yet. I have a letter hear for you. We are so sorry to have put you through this today.” With that the Officer hands me an envelope.

Gently I take it from him, holding it with both hands as I look at what is written on the outside of the envelope, “Booger”, in beautiful cursive letters.

My heart beats against my chest as I stare down at it. After all this time, I can’t even go see him? Is this it?

My hands turn clammy, and I feel the color drain from my face as I turn over the envelope, pull out the letter, and unfold it slowly.

I can feel the Officer look at me for a moment before he turns to leave. Offering me what privacy he can. I look at the letter and read,

“Booger,

I know you have a lot of questions and I have a lot to face with your mother, sister, and you. I came back as after all these years, I thought I wanted to see where my girls were at, and how they were doing.

I know the most pressing thing you want to know is why, why did I let you all think I was dead. The simple truth was that having you all was to much for me, and when they mistook me for the man killed by the tree, I was given a moment to decide, and I took it.

There was no looking back once I left.

I have lived a quite life. Over the years I have wondered what has happened to all of you. After all this time I decided that I wanted to come and meet you all again. See who you are and what has become of your lives.

Coming here though, seeing how the world has changed, and seeing pictures of what you all have become…

I am happy that each of you seem to have found happiness and have grown into such beautiful people. To much has passed for me to come to this life now though...

Please never think that I don’t love you.

I am proud to have gotten to see what I could. There is just apart of me that cannot come close to the family I gave up, or to the world you all live in.

I love you and I’m sorry.

Your father,

Carl”

With those words, I stand up, push the chair over behind me as I walk out of the room. After all these years, opening us up to this pain. Coming back, to just, leave again.

Tears start to fall down my cheeks as I rush out of the police station. I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and call my mother. Her voice rings clear through the night, “Sis, Are you ok?”.

I start to choke on my sobs as I walk down the street, “No. No I’m not. I went to go see him.” My mothers voice turns gentle and smoothly as she tries to speak to me, “O sissy, what happened? Why didn’t you wait for us? Where are you?"

I can’t control the sobs anymore as they convulse out of my body.

“I couldn’t. I just... Couldn’t wait. Mom, it hurts so much.” I cry out as the pain is too much to bear anymore, “He wanted to get to know us Mom, but...”

I try to say the words as my heart breaks, “But… it’s all too much for him. He can’t.”

With those final words. I stop and curl into a ball and let all the pain, the heart ache, everything, wash over me as my mom calls out for me on the phone.

I never knew such a blessing would turn out to be such a curse.