Mimi0hMy69
Stories (1/0)
The Den
He died alone. No one to hold his hand, did he reach? Would he had reached? 32 hours ago I wanted nothing to do with him. I could't of cared less about his well-being, now my heart aches for my poor father. Sitting on his old leather couch has brought back vivid memories of my childhood trauma. Screams between him and my mother silently fill my ears. The sound of shattering glass the time my mom picked up his little black book. The infamous book that he carried everywhere he went. She went to move it for the sake of dusting underneath it and boy did he get upset. He yelled nasty things then concluded with tossing one of her favorite china dolls across the room boasting about how he created something else for her to clean. I now hold this book in my hands just hours after identifying his frail lifeless body. This book caused so much friction in his and my mothers marriage, I once desperately wanted to burn it. Instead I now sit here tempted to read it. Feeling a little nervous as if were going to come through the door of his den, where I sat, and tell me how is isn't feeling like himself after a tongue lashing I would receive thanks to my cartoons being too loud or the beating mama would get because his supper wasn't hot enough, or hell too hot depending on the season.It was a good thing they never got around to having more children after I was born. Mama would never get the chance to relax in between two jobs because daddy's temperament kept him from holding down a decent 9 to 5. Mama had to work two jobs, still to have to rob Paul to pay Peter, she would always say. Nevertheless I now controlled the one possession that seemingly controlled him. A glass of gin with sprite and I sit together, just as he sat with his whiskey and coke. Tears riding the rims of my eyes and my drink at my side as I clutched the book. Now thinking back, I'm more like him than I care to admit. Here goes nothing, I thought to myself as I slowly turned the first page being careful not to rip them. "I NEED HELP." The sentence on the second page read. I didn't understand, why did he need help? my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. The next page, "GOD PLEASE FIX ME." Fix what? why is he calling on God? Skipping several pages I run into, "WILL THEY LOVE ME? WILL THEY UNDERSTAND." This got to me far more than the first page. I can't stop the tears from flowing. The book was filled with one and two sentence pages that didn't get any easier to read. It was as though he pondered about these sentences because on every page there was doodling that filled the rest of the pages. In hopes of finding something positive to read I stumbled across the most heart-wrenching sentences, "SHE NEVER GOT TO FORGIVE ME. RIP 08/24/2020." The date my mother's life ended after contracting COVID-19 from either her job as a cook at the convalescent home or maybe at the warehouse where she worked the line assembling first-aid kits. irregardless she didn't make it and he cared. He didn't show any emotion at her funeral. I was certain he was relieved she was gone, and now I know he did in fact care. "CHI THIS IS FOR YOU." He gave me that nickname when I was in grade-school. What was for me? more and more questions. Just as I turned another page the home phone rings. I watched it for a second. Then I realized they weren't giving up. I answered with the most annoyed tone to see to it that the person on the other end knew first hand that I wanted nothing to do with their conversation. "Yeah?" that ought of make them hang up, I thought. "Chi?" the voice exclaimed. "Yes," I responded. "My name is Erik Nelson. I am your father's attorney and conservator. do you have a moment?" I sat quietly in confusion. He continued. "When your mother passed she had a fifty-thousand dollar insurance policy so that in the event anything happened to her you and your father would be taken care of. Well shortly after she passed your father hired me to help him set it aside for you." "Why me? I don't understand. Why did he need you?" I asked softly. "Chi, your father was diagnosed with Schizophrenia right before your mother passed and he thought it would cloud his better judgment with the funds from your mother and hired me to help. He place the money in a savings account for you and also signed the deed to the house over to you if anything were to happen to him." I couldn't believe it. Daddy not only died alone but lived alone. He never shared anything with us and suffered in silence. The conversation that seemed like forever ended as quickly as it began and Mr. Nelson hung up with the intent to meet with me the following day to go over more detail. I turned the last page of the book and there it was. A photo of my mother and father in the hospital the day I was born. Mama holding me while daddy grinned a grin I can't say I had seen very often. The caption read, "I never knew how much I loved you until I would wake up someone else and not even recognize who you were, but I'm myself today and I know I love you both more than I love myself. "
By Mimi0hMy693 years ago in Families