Rooted

“Oh! You came!” a soft voice greets me as I walk inside my dad’s house. I hadn’t been home in years, let alone kept in touch with him. Coming back here was never an option for me. I had even stopped answering when he called. As a result he treated my voicemail as if it was his diary with requests to call him back.

I never did.

Do I regret it? Nah. Not really. I hated him, especially after the first time. He claimed it was tough love, but that was hard to believe. I figured he was just trying to exorcise his own demons by beating up on me. That was... until I turned eighteen. He was surprised when I fought back and almost left him unconscious. I left home in a hurry, afraid of what he might do when he got up. Afraid of what he might do to mom.

Oh mom.

She was worried sick about me when I joined the army. She made me promise to write to her as often as possible. I still feel regret about leaving her alone with dad, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. I dreamed of making enough money to move her in with me, but sadly she passed away before I could. Dad tried to talk to me at the funeral, but I ignored him. As far I was concerned, he was dead too and I was an orphan.

Now he’s really gone. Am I a terrible person because I don’t feel sad?

“I am so glad you came,” the woman says, snapping me back to the present. I look up to see it’s Tamra. She was a childhood friend from across the street. I got a sniff of her vanilla scented perfume when she hugged me. At that moment, I was a kid again. It’s crazy the effect she still has on me.

“Is it true?” I ask quietly.

“Is what true?” she prompts.

“The bastard finally croaked?” I ask.

“Darius!” she gasps, punching me. “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

“Ow! I just want to know. That’s all I came here for. With him gone, the world is a better place,” I shrug.

Tamra rolls her eyes and walks away. I’m pretty sure I irritated her with my open disdain for my dad. I can go overboard sometimes. I follow her to the kitchen to apologize. She smirks, all is forgiven.

Dad’s funeral the next day was predictable. People fell out, the sermon was long, and the choir sang fourteen selections. I approach him one last time before they close his casket. You know, just for good measure. He looks peaceful, almost as if he’s happy. His gaunt cheeks are barely covered by his silver mane. He can rot in hell. He doesn’t deserve peace. Hmm… Maybe I should unbutton his shirt to give him more comfort. My eyes catch Tamra’s as I turn to take my seat. She sure knows how to make me feel regretful.

Back at the house it’s eerily quiet. I realize I never took the time to register that I was home. I stand to my feet and slowly explore the place that houses so many memories; mostly ones I tried to suppress. My hand gently slides across the wallpaper covering the walls. They’re not as cheap as I remember. Dad must’ve replaced them.

I freeze outside my old bedroom. The nostalgia coupled with anxiety rush over my entire being like a flood. I could feel my chest tighten like a vice, causing me to hesitate opening the door.

What am I afraid of seeing when I open the door? Could it be that I don’t want to open up old wounds?

“How long has it been?” Tamra asks, startling me from behind.

“Too long,” I said, gathering myself. I notice she’s holding a black book in her hand. “What’s that?” I ask.

“This? It’s your dad’s. He wanted you to have it,” she replies.

I could barely contain the look of disgust before Tamra could notice. She tilts her head, admonishing me with her stare. I lower my gaze to the floor like a kid in trouble.

“Are you going to go in or are you going to stand here all night?” she teases.

I flash her a smile as I realize how silly I look. How bad could it be? With Tamra being here, I didn’t feel as nervous anymore. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and open the door.

I expected a wave of alcohol, must, and cigarettes to infiltrate my nostrils, but I was utterly surprised. My room is exactly as I had left it. Posters still on the wall, bed made, and clothes still in the closet. It even smells the same.

Tamra must’ve noticed the confusion on my face. She slowly takes a seat on my bed, watching me. I could barely speak, let alone find the words to convey my feelings. My body grew hot. Was this rage? Why am I upset? I clench my jaws as I scan the room. So many memories and dad preserved them all. I glance over my shoulder to see her still watching me, waiting for me to sit next to her.

“I think you should read it,” she suggests, raising dad’s book in the air.

I didn’t want to, but dad did surprise me by keeping my room intact. What other surprises did he have? I plop down next to her as she extends the book to me. I debate whether or not to open it.

“It’s okay, Darius,” she says soothingly.

I take the book and the smell of leather and musk immediately hits my nostrils.

“Smells like dad,” I chuckle. “That old cheap cologne he loved.”

I open it and begin reading,

“My dear son Darius,

How long has it been? Five? Ten years? It feels like an eternity to me. I know that I’ve failed at being the father that you desperately needed. Son, I apologize for that. I have tried to reach out many times, hoping that you’d return my calls. I decided to start this journal, believing you’d read it someday. I was a monster to you and I beg for your forgiveness. Not just forgive me, but be a better man than I could be. I pray that you break the cycle of abuse and the curses that plague our family. Be better than me son.

Love,

Dad

“Dad wrote this?” I asked in disbelief, fighting back tears.

“Keep reading,” Tamra insists.

I turn the page.

“My son Darius,

Hurt people hurt people and I’ve been hurt a lot. My father, your grandfather was abusive towards me. He was unhappy with his life and took it out on us. Seems like I inherited his unhappiness. I passed down my pain to you instead of protecting you because that’s all I knew. Your mother tried to show me love, but I rejected it. You may think I hated you, but the truth is I hated myself. I denied you the chance to know me, and for that I’m sorry. I wish things could’ve been different.

Love,

Dad

I slam the book shut, determined to ignore the confessions of a dying man and his pleas for forgiveness.

“Darius,” Tamra says softly.

“I can’t do this,” I stammer. “Where was this remorse when he was alive?”

“You never answered the phone,” she replied.

I felt rage at her statement and before I knew it I was screaming at her.

“Why are you taking up for him anyway?” I snap.

“Excuse me? I understand you are upset, but I am not your enemy. Your dad asked me to take care of his affairs until you got here. He instructed me to give you this book after the funeral,” she snaps back.

I realized in that moment I wasn’t much different from my dad. I let bitterness and unforgiveness poison my soul. I lower my head, feeling shameful, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry for lashing out at you, Tam. You’ve done nothing but be an amazing friend to us. I don’t know how to deal with this. I want to hate him so much, but this book is changing my perception of him. It pours cold water on my hatred,” I lament.

“Nothing good ever comes from holding on to hate,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder.

She’s right. If I’m going to heal from this and be better than my dad, then I need to let my pain go. That was all the strength I needed.

We lean back on the bed and resume reading. Dad revealed a lot about his childhood traumas, abuse and molestations. He never molested me, but he did struggle with what happened to him. Tamra eventually falls asleep, leaving me alone to continue reading. I couldn’t put it down. I was getting to know dad for the very first time. My eyes grew heavy as I neared the last few pages.

“You’re still reading?” a groggy Tamra asks with one eye open.

“Yeah, I have one entry left. I had no idea dad went through all of this. Everything makes sense now.” I reply thoughtfully.

She flashes a warm smile before adjusting her head against my chest. “Can you read the last one out loud?” she asks. I nod.

“My dear son Darius,

They say that a tree is best measured when it is cut down. We may never fully know its height nor its worth. At times we regret cutting it down because it provided protection from the sun and elements. Other times we celebrate it’s beauty and service because of what it’s wood produces. In life it provided shelter for many creatures, but it also does the same thing in death. We either use it’s wood to make homes or we can use it to make materials. It is all about perspective. The tree may produce rotten pieces of wood, but only a fool would try to build upon or use that. It is unstable. The tree has bad roots. So it is with life. I urge you to reflect upon my words here in this journal. Use the wood from the tree and create something beautiful and useful. Maintain your tree so it will produce exceptional wood to be used by others that come into your life. May our lives forever give in abundance and love long after we are gone. For that is the goal of life. How I wish I could see you one last time. Treat Tamra well. She still loves you even after all of this time. Hopefully this journal brings you two closer so you can build the relationship you truly want. As one last gift to you, son, I am leaving you an inheritance to help give you the life you deserve. You will be contacted by my lawyer about it. I hope it is sufficient for my future grandchildren you and Tamra will someday bear. They say a wiseman leaves an inheritance for his children’s children, so this will be the smartest thing I have ever done. It won’t make up for what I have done to you in life, but I hope this goes a long way toward making up for it.

I love you and until we see each other again,

Dad.

I couldn’t close the book fast enough before my tears saturated the page. My feelings burst through the fragile dam of my composure as I broke down and wept in Tamra’s arms.

Do I feel sad about dad being gone? Yes and I regret not giving him the opportunity for peace before he passed. There’s not much I can do about it now aside from moving forward and using the wood of my dad’s life to build a better future.