Grief

CW: Grief, trauma, mental health

“Mr.Peterson, your wife and daughters, they- they didn’t make it.” The doctor said with tight thin lips that formed into a straight line. “I’m sorry.” The only thing I could focus on was this stain on his white coat, maybe coffee he spilled when he was rushing out the door this morning, or he ran into another doctor on his way to deliver the bad news. Whatever it was, was unprofessional. “There’s a stain on your coat, doc.” And with that, I left. But I couldn’t go home, not without them. So, I hopped in my vehicle, and drove for hours.

Waters Way was the name of the road I was staring at. Home. Dried pine leaves and hay lay scattered about the road, and it winded just like I remembered. It was always full of curves, full of adventure, and if you kept going, walking off the road and into the grass, a lake lay at the far right of my grandfather's property. I’d give anything to dive back in, to feel the cold of the water on my skin, for the water to engulf me instead of life. But after my grandfather died, my father inherited the property, and sold it. He was never fond of his father, and didn’t understand my relationship with him. I wanted to be a writer, a journalist specifically, but my father would steer the conversation elsewhere, always offering careers I didn’t want. He would call me sensitive and tell me that I’m like my mom when I showed emotion or tenderness. It’s a miracle I found the women I did, that I didn’t become like my father. My grandfather was the only one who understood me and he was always there for me when I needed it. He told me that still waters run deep and that if he could re-do anything in life, it would be raising his son all over again. But all I’ve learned is that nothing is ever that deep with my father. I’ve tried to dig out whatever water I could but he’s as shallow as a puddle after the rain. And now, with my girls gone, I’m alone, again. After I finished looking at the property, I got back in my car. It was the second one I ever purchursed. My wife helped me pick it out when we were newlyweds. On the ride home, I turned on the radio. The song, “Broken” played for what felt like all night.

“I’m thinking about moving.” I said to my therapist. “Oh, that would be a good change. A new setting would help you heal. There is a lot of new construction happening around here, I’m sure you’ll be able to find a new place.” She finished. “No, no, I’m thinking about moving out west.” I say looking at my hands. “Oh.” She sat and thought. “Out west.” She said almost chewing the words. “Yea, I want to start over. This state feels suffocating now. I am tired of seeing the same people and having to explain or feeling like everyone knows and is thinking about it all the time. I want something new.” She shifted in her chair. “Geroge,” she said, pausing, “do you think you’re running away from your grief?” George sat and thought. “Well, even if I were, there’s nothing wrong with moving out west, is there?" “No George, of course not. I’m just concerned about the way you’re doing it.” The air seemed to grow still, time seemed to stop. “Okay, thank you for your concern,” I said as I gathered my things to head out. And George? Do you have anyone to talk to, besides me?” I twiddled my fingers. “No ma’am.” She looked to the floor. “And your father-“ “No ma’am.” I cut in. She nodded her head again. “Okay George. I really am sorry about what you’re going through. And I hope you can find forgiveness and support through this.” She gave me a tight lipped smile, one of pity, a smile I hate. Being with my father feels worse than being alone. But if all that’s true, why am I thinking about reaching out again? I stop myself from chewing the inside of my mouth and begin to say goodbye to my therapist.

The day was long and the session with my therapist left me emotionally drained and thinking too hard. It was 8:02pm and I had just finished eating spaghetti with squash and zucchini. I sunk into my couch, relaxing my muscles. They’d been tense all day and I couldn’t figure out why I was so on edge. It was probaly all the thoughts about my father that was making me tense. Maybe I should start the new puzzle- buzz. My phone started vibrating on the dining room table. I glanced at it, content to leave it. It’s late on a Saturday evening, why is someone calling me? But something in my chest was rattling, yearning, and waiting to be answered. I picked it up. “Hello, is this- is this George Peterson?” My breath caught in my throat. “Yes, that’s me.” It was my father. “Hey Georgie, I know it’s been a whle and,” he paused, “I’m sorry to call so late but I’ve been thinking a lot. I wanted to ask if you’d want to grab a bite to eat sometime?” Another pause. “Soon,” he adds. The air around me was fizzling with energy like the blood in my veins. I didn’t know what to say, so I said yea. “Well, cool, how about next Friday? I’m free then.” And I said yea again. “Okay, awesome.” A longer pause. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.” And I replied with yea one more time before he hung up. I guess I didn’t have to reach out after all. My chest was tight, the anger I had at my session earlier was rising again. I was never one to hide my feelings and this time won’t be any different. I just hope I don’t feel more alone after meeting with him.

The restaurant was packed with people. Their voices rose higher than the smoke from our food. Their conversations seemed to float between us, like it was trying to wash away our history, trying to weigh more than the elephant sitting between us. I pick up my fork and begin twirling it in circles, trying to pick up the linguine noodles. “I’ve come to realize that my job as a parent is to pursue my kids.” He started, stabbing his steak with his fork. “A-and I’m sorry I didn’t do that growing up but I’m here now.” He pursed his lips, his eyes searching his plate. I hadn’t said a word yet. My food was getting cold, the fork like dead weight in my hand. “Are you going to eat?” He asked. “Are you?” I asked back. He set his fork down and breathed deeply, heavily. “I’m trying but I’m not really up to eating right now. I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling.” The words sat strangely in my stomach. I rather have food poisoning than this. “You never wanted to know that growing up.” I say more sorrowful than I meant. I can’t let him see me like this. “I-I know that. But I’m asking now.” He said with a slightly sharp edge to his voice. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just want to start over George, can we do that?” The anger was starting to boil. I wanted to answer but my lips were shut and my heart was cracked open. “No. No we can’t. Did you even know that my wife and kids died?!” I smacked the table. My breathing was now heavy. “Did you even know I was married? Did you want to know? Why did you never call?” My head was starting to throb. I was asking too many questions. Why did I agree to this? I just wanted to jump into my lake, one last time. To feel the weight of my body fall into the water, to watch the bubbles leave my mouth. “Why did you sell the property?” I start to rub the space between my eyes. To see my grandfather jump after me, and his goofy smile underneath the water line. “That was my home. I grew up there.” My emotions started to rush all at once and all of a sudden I felt a grief I hadn’t felt before. I felt like throwing up. “I-I don’t know,” he stuttered.“You don’t know? I’m beginning to think this dinner was a mistake.” I shove the table, push my chair back, and rush to find a bathroom before the memories of my grandfather, wife, and girls could finish. Before my father could see the tears in my eyes.

Since the meeting with my father, being home again was even harder. The house felt cold, dark and empty. I used to think what made it feel like home was the candles, the decorations and the effort my wife put into the home. But now without them, it’s meaningless. What once made it feel alive was gone and no amount of interior design was going to change that. I need to move. Maybe I can rent out a hotel tonight. I grab the keys out the tray and realize I’ve misplaced my phone. Phone calls have been making me anxious as of late so I’ve been trying to stay away from my phone. Okay, okay, where was I last? The kitchen, my room. But to no avail was my searching. All of a sudden I could hear a vibration. I walked in a circle, looking under the sofa, the dressers, and my desk. But again. It was nowhere to be found. Come on, man. I started tracing my steps in my mind. The bathroom! Rushing in, I found my phone in my open draw. It rang again. I stared, spacing out. It seems life always changes when I pick up the phone. What if i just put this one down, go and heat up a meal, watch tv. I began to put the phone back down but something tugged at my heart. Okay, okay. “Is this Mr. Peterson?” a female voice comes through the phone. “Yes, yes it is.” "This is the ER, Your father, he’s been in an accident, you should come.” “Shoot,” I mumbled under my breath. My heart was bursting, my insides shattering. Life had already begun to drown me, the waves high, threatening to wash me away with the weight of it all. I had tried my best to keep the waters at bay when my grandfather died, leaning on my family for support. But my family passing, drowned me in a grief that left me in a haze. A haze so thick I went on as if not much had happened. But now this feels like it broke the dam, broke the dam holding all the water and all the grief back. I collapsed on the floor, taking in shallow breaths. I need to breathe. In and out. In and out. But my chest was burning. I started taking off my sweater. Get yourself together George. You need to get to the hospital. I grabbed my keys and slid my feet into my slides. Please God, let me have one more moment with him before I find out what being truly alone really feels like. Before I really have nothing left to live for. I forgot to lock the door behind me, I wish I could forget my grief. I didn’t mean to blow up at him at the resturant but all my emotions were welling up. Just keep it togther Georgie, one more time. Please.

The hospital was cold, like the space between my father and I. It was dark outside but the lights in the hospital were so bright I had to squint. “I’m here for my father, Aldrich Peterson.” “One moment sir.” I turned towards all the patients sitting in the waiting room, trying to control my breathing. “Right this way, Sir.” The hallway was long, there were too many turns to remember my way out. “Your father fell off his roof, and hurt his back. It’s possible he could suffer paralysis but that’s not the worst of it.” She took a deep breath as she turned another corner and led me down yet another long hallway. “He had a seizure on his way here, we found a tumor in his brain." The hallway seemed endless. “A Tumor?” I said, licking my lips. My mouth felt dry. “The surgery would require us taking out a portion of his brain, he may lose part of his memory.” My head felt dizzy. “You are next of kin, we need you to make the decision.”

Funny how life throws you a curve ball, whether you play by the rules or not. Was I going to face this or run away? Like I always do. Was I doing this to get my dad back, did I even want that? My therapist asked me what's the best decision for my dad and I honestly think it’s this. “Mr.Peterson, have you made a decision yet?” said the nurse, pulling me out of my trance. “Yes, please remove it.” The doctor nodded her head and yelled at who knows who to prep for surgery. Who will my dad be when he wakes up from surgery? Will I like him? What will he forget? It felt like the night would never end as I sat in the waiting room, waiting. It didn’t matter that he never met my wife or kids, it didn’t matter that he didn’t know they died. None of it mattered anymore.

“Mr.Peterson, the surgery was a success. Of course we’ll have to watch for any complications and he’ll be required to rest for a few days but he should be discharged in a couple of days.” The doctor smiled, a real smile this time. “Thank you, Doc.” Looking at my father resting felt like a day-dream and a nightmare. He was old, wrinkled, and looked so different from when I last saw him. I could wait an eternity for him to wake up. I don’t know how I’ll feel. I remember when my grandfather used to take me on his boat, we’d pretend no one had sailed or charted the waters we were in, and he’d tell me it was an adventure. Our adventure. He’d take out paper and draw the sea, and tell me that all I had to do was keep my eyes on the prize. The prize being the journey, the stars and the sea. And that was all I had to do now too. “Oh, hey there Georgie.” Said a raspy, sweet voice. He remebered. I released my hands from the fist they were in. “Where are we? What are we doing in this room?” I took a deep breath. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this. Except for my grandpa. “I’m your son,” I said with a smile. I haven’t smiled at my dad in a long time. It felt weird, and foreign. He felt foreign. “And we are curently in a hospital. You are okay now.” “What happned to me?” He asked. His eyebrows knit together. “We’re going to be going on a journey together, a sea never charted. And I’ll tell you all about the brave but dangerous adventure you just went on.” I lifted my hand in the air, and moved it about as if seeing an invisible map. I knew it may have sounded stupid, but for once I could be care free again, like when I was young. “Adventure? That sounds a bit funny.” He clasped his hands togther and looked ahead of him. Almost content like but grumpy at the same time. It was like the surgery took away the part of him that was quick on his feet, that was snappy. “An adventuire that is you and me. We’ll be seeing each other a lot now and we should make the best of it.”

“What did we used to do before?”

“Nothing, we were miles apart before. But now, we’re not.” My voice was cracking, and my heart was cracking too. I patted his shoulder and gave him a tight smile. I didn’t know how we were going to sail this one, but my grandfather taught me how to chart, he taught me this lesson long before. Maybe I’ll finally get to see if still waters really run deep. And maybe, just maybe, the waters can change me too. “We’ll get through this togther. We’re all we have.” My father smiled at me, and nestled his head back in the center of the pillow, staring up. This wasn’t the man I knew before, but he wasn’t totally gone. Who will I be? The question scared me. But there was nothing else to do but to keep going.