Irish Goodbyes

Irish Goodbyes

By Brent Bosworth

I tossed my bolt cutters to the ground after snapping the chain that held the door shut, and walked into the Rapid Falls Hotel. The place closed down and was abandoned back in 2016, just one year after I spent my honeymoon here. It still looked just as grand and beautiful as it had before; it was just a lot dustier now and home to many more cobwebs. When we stayed here, we got the honeymoon suite, of course, which was the main attraction. Its balcony overlooked a hundred and fifty-foot waterfall. I was excited to see it again, as it was still to this day the most breathtaking view I’d ever seen. I clicked the button on the elevator and wasn’t surprised, but a little disappointed when it didn’t work. I began to make my way up the ten flights of stairs. 

I moved slowly, as I had most of the time these days. I wasn’t particularly out of shape or anything, but after coming to the realization that nothing in life actually mattered, I just no longer had a sense of urgency. I made it to the top eventually, and walked to the door covered in elegantly painted hearts and roses. I turned it, expecting it to open, only to realize I forgot that I would need a key. No matter, it was an old-fashioned door, and the lock wasn’t super hard to break. I had stepped back and slammed my body into the door twice before it snapped and flew open. A musty smell rushed out of the room. It was hot as hell in there, and hadn’t been cleaned in ten years, so I wasn’t surprised. It didn’t matter. I was going to the balcony anyway. 

I stepped out, and it was everything I remembered and more. Waves crashed far below, and tons of jagged rocks shot up at the bottom of the fall. The railing I was looking over was coming loose, and after wiggling it a bit, it snapped, and I threw it over into the water. I now saw the edge of the balcony, with my feet hanging off over the fall. The breeze was incredible, and I thought to myself that I wish I could share this moment with all of the people who had meant so much to me throughout my life. I look back on most of them fondly, even the ones who destroyed me into the person I am today. While it was true that I had accomplished a lot of things, overcame a lot of things, and always kept my morals and ethics intact, in the end, none of that mattered. I had constantly been surrounded by people who “loved” me, but I consistently wasn’t enough for any of them. My thirty-two years had felt like a lifetime of melancholy. 

I thought now about some of those people who had cared so much for me, and some of the ones who hadn’t. First I thought about where it all started to go wrong. My father, the first person who should’ve cared, but ended up leaving. I know I’ve had a long time to get over it, but I never really did. I didn’t think it really affected me that much. For a long time, I just wished and prayed he would die. I recently came to the realization of what that meant, though. He was the first person who taught me how to hate. Hate is a heavy thing. I think a lot of the time it’s stronger than love, even though the opposite should be true. I really don’t know what happened to him, to be honest. Maybe he did die; either way, he’s dead to me. 

I thought about the one girl I actually thought understood and loved me the most. This was harder to think about because I wanted to think of her fondly, but there was definitely a bit of rage mixed in the love. She would say words like “forever” and “marriage,” but in the end, my life was too complicated for her, and she decided I wasn’t worth fighting for. This stung more than any other betrayal I had dealt with. Why is it that the ones that choose to come into our lives are often the ones that leave us feeling the most broken? What once felt like the most important relationship in my life now felt like it was a game. I fought tooth and nail to keep her, but she abandoned me at the end of the day anyway. 

I thought about my mom, and how even though it wasn’t always great, she did her best. A lot of the shitty things that happened weren’t really her fault. When she had me, she was only sixteen. It’s definitely hard to grow up being raised by someone who is still growing up themselves because they haven’t finished fucking up yet. Honestly, I’m really not sure that people ever really stop fucking up, but they at least get a little better about it as they get older. I loved her dearly, and even though everyone else who knew her judged her, she was perfect to me. For a long time, we were all we had. The only thing I would change would be not growing up around so many people in active addiction. That definitely paved the way for my own drug and alcohol problem, which I’d spend over half my life trying to kick. Thankfully, I’ve been clean for about a year, but that seems kind of irrelevant today. 

I stare at the raging waterfall, contemplating the waves hitting the rocks at the bottom, and couldn’t help but to think of how it would look on the way down. It would get closer and closer, more dangerous and beautiful every second, until it was over. I removed my shirt and tossed it over. I don’t know why, but it just felt right to strip down completely. I left my bracelet and necklace on. The necklace was a simple chain with a cross. It really didn’t mean much to me; I kind of wore it as an insurance policy. I stopped believing in God a long time ago, but on the off chance, I wanted to show respect when I met him. The bracelet had my son’s name engraved on it. It meant much more to me than the cross. Honestly, it meant more to me than almost anything anymore. 

He was the last person I thought of. In a way, I’m sure he would be devastated by what I was going to do. We were best buds, after all, but he was getting older and really didn’t need me as much anymore. In a way, he was kind of the main reason I had to go through with this. A boy looks up to, and is molded into a man based on the kind of man his father is. How could I, in good conscience, let him grow up seeing a fractured man who knew nothing but what he’d learned from a cruel life as his role model? I was saving him from turning out like this, and I think he might hate me for a while, but when he’s older, he will thank me for not letting him be molded into a fucking loser, like me. Sometimes, the greatest form of love is sacrifice. 

I think about all of these people at once now, and many that I didn’t mention. The people in our lives shape us, for better or worse. That’s one of the only universal truths I know. For what it’s worth, I would like to forgive all of those who wronged me. The father that left. The lover that left. The friends that left. I also want to apologize to those who didn’t deserve the emotional turmoil this would put them through. The mother that tried. The son that loved unconditionally. I’m sorry. It occurred to me before I jumped that the quality of a person's life depends entirely on the quality of their relationships, which is a pretty sad thing. If only more people tried for me, but if they wanted to, they would, and they didn’t. I take a deep breath and walk calmly off the edge of the balcony. Looking down the whole time as the rocks got closer and closer, and then it was over.