Mosquito Road

Standing at my grandmother's grave with her son, side by side, surrounded by a swarm of hungry mosquitoes, we both gazed silently at her tombstone. It had been a decade since her passing and somehow I had been the one to inform my father that she didn't wake up that day. To say that we weren't close at that time, would be an underestimation of the years of fear and pain under his thumb. The silence between us was ripe with tension, regret, and yearning for some sort of solace.

I spoke over the hum of darting mosquitoes to express how much I missed the keystone of our family, the rubber band that kept us all in check and constantly reminded us that our bond of blood should overcome any disagreement or any discord. With her absence, trivial arguments became chasms between siblings and the delicate balance was disrupted without an adequate peacemaker to step in.

Silence, that was actually reflection and about to burst forth, ensued.

Without notice, my father stumbled into a litany of revelations. From his lips tumbled regrets about focusing on his pain and loss when grandma died, and losing sight of anyone else's grief. It made sense and I didn't know if I could have seen beyond the gulf he found himself submerged in. And then, he turned to me, faced me and said, "I'm sorry."

I was not prepared for those words. I looked at him in shock and turned away when I saw the visage of reconciliation, a face I never thought I'd see from my dad. He didn't stop. He kept speaking in a stream of consciousness detailing all the pain I'd experienced from his years of ignoring me and my life because his faith demanded he reject my sexuality, all the moments missed because distance was maintained between us, all the joy he just saw between our extended family and myself during that trip home, witnessing a tremendous loss.

I knew I wanted to fully be myself when visiting the family but I never expected the impact it would have on my father. I never realized how much I had minimized myself in his presence in the hope that he might accept me. I felt that I was being ignored, but how do you call it out, how do you challenge that perception when it's so easily dismissed? And now it was being confirmed. However, it was being confirmed in order to be corrected.

When I understood that I was receiving an apology, I burst into tears. At once, I respected the man before me as I never had before. He was a real man. He was courageous and yet humble to even consider apologizing to his son. He meant every word, he felt it deep in his heart and soul, and the path of love between us was instantly restored, in the cradle of a mother's grave.

It was a moment I wanted for so many years and yet never expected. I turned toward my father and embraced him with love like we never had before. Our course had changed and a new way of engaging each other opened before us. We became a father and son as it should have been and our bond has steadily grown ever since. It wasn't until we let go of each other and headed back to the car that I sensed the myriad of mosquito bites over my exposed skin. I thought to myself, it was worth standing in that mist of misery to regain a relationship that had become so strained. In that bloodletting, we had both let go of our common pain and regret and could now move on down a different road.