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Becoming Numb

The child is grown; the dream is gone

By Gerald HolmesPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 8 min read
19
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It’s been twenty days now, twenty days of hell and three days of seeing you in my dreams. The last time I saw you, in reality, was twenty-six days ago. The last time I saw you in my dreams was a few hours ago.

Your ship was officially declared missing after six days, and they stopped looking after ten days of finding no trace.

The last time we spoke was down at the harbour, when you and your brothers, my uncles, were loading the ship before sailing out through the narrows.

You promised me you wouldn’t be going this time. You said you wanted to be here for your daughter's graduation, but once again, you broke your promise.

The draw of the sea was always a powerful force to you, and I resented the fact that you always chose the water over me. How could you love the ocean more than your daughter? All I ever wanted was to be with you, spend time laughing with you and feel your strong arms hugging me.

This spot, under this tree, was our spot. This is where we would go to be alone. Here sitting under the pear tree looking out over the North Atlantic, talking about life and my future. Those days were the happiest days for me. The memories of us all alone on this hill under your favourite tree will be with me all the days of my life.

Standing here now looking out at the water, hoping to see your ship on the horizon, my heart is broken with regret thinking about the last words I said to you.

I was out of my mind with anger and screamed, “Why would you do this to me? You know how important it is for me to have you there. You never cared about me. You’re a useless father. I hate you.”

You stared at me with a look I’ve never seen on your face before and fumbled to speak, but I turned and ran home before you could answer.

I know now that look was pain and not just any pain. It was a heart-wrenching pain caused by my words.

I am so sorry for saying those words to you. I never meant them. I guess I was so angry because I wouldn’t be able to give you my big surprise.

Why did you have to buy that ship? Everything was different before you and your brothers decided to go into business together and bought that ship three years ago. Before that, you were home every night after your shift at the fish plant. You always had time for me and never broke a promise you made.

You taught me so much in my younger years. Hard work, honesty and integrity, you said, were the three things most valued in a person and that I should live my life trying to live up to these values.

You see, because of the things you taught me through your words and your actions, I finished high school with the best grades in my class and was chosen to give a speech at the graduation ceremony. I worked on that speech for week's dad, and it was all about you. All about everything that you taught me and how you were the reason I am who I am. But most of all it was a thank you letter to you telling you how much I love you.

One of the most valuable lessons you taught me was never to judge people too quickly. You said everybody has a reason and a story, and we should never judge without knowing the truth.

That lesson became clear to me when old man Murphy died. He'd moved back to our small town a few years ago after spending thirty years in the big city. His big, run-down old house was on the hill that overlooked the harbour. He never spoke to anyone, and I had never seen him smile. All of us kids were afraid of him and would speed up whenever we walked past his house. He always sat on his front porch staring out at the ocean. Whenever we kids walked past, he would watch us with a faraway look in his eyes that made us all nervous.

I never saw him have a conversation with anyone, even you dad. He only spoke when he had to, usually one or two words, like hello or no thanks.

I remember you making us dress up and attend Mr. Murphy's funeral. I couldn't understand why we had to go and told you I didn't want to go because I didn't like Mr. Murphy and thought he was a scary old man.

That’s when you sat me down and told me, “Never judge a person until you walk a mile in their shoes,” before telling me old man Murphy’s story.

He had moved to the big city for work over thirty years ago and met the love of his life a few years after. They were married and welcomed a beautiful daughter into their lives a year after the wedding. He worked hard to provide a comfortable and happy life for his family and even visited his hometown with his family a few years before the accident. His wife and daughter had spent the weekend visiting friends in a small town a few hours’ drive from home. That Sunday evening on the drive home, they were stopped on the side of the road at the bottom of a hill with a flat tire when tragedy struck.

It rained earlier in the day, and the roads were still a little wet. It was just getting dark; that weird few minutes when your eyes were still adjusting to the change, when the transport truck came over the top of the hill. Mr. Murphy's wife was getting back in the car and still had the door open when the truck driver finally saw them. He wanted to move into the oncoming lane but couldn't because there was a car coming in that direction. He slammed on his brakes, trying to stop, but because of the wet road, he started to slide as the trailer he was pulling started to jackknife. He slammed into the car at almost full speed, and Mrs. Murphy and her daughter were killed instantly.

I understand Mr. Murphy much more clearly now. The pain of losing someone you love so much, so unexpectedly, is overwhelming and all-consuming.

Like him, I felt alone and lost, spending my days just staring at the ocean, trying to find some answer to why you've left me.

The last three nights, you've appeared to me in my dreams, trying to tell me something, but it all feels jumbled in my head. Each morning when I awake, my first thoughts are always of the time you took me to the concert in Toronto.

You had made me a fan of your favourite band, Pink Floyd, and arranged a special gift for my fourteenth birthday. The happiest weekend of my life was when you took me to Toronto to see Pink Floyd live in concert. I had never been on a plane or stayed in a hotel, or seen a live concert and sharing those experiences with you is the highlight of my life so far.

Your favourite song by them is "Comfortably Numb," and it became my favourite after that weekend.

I asked you what the song meant, and you said, "It means different things to different people, but that song helped me when I lost my father." You said you had trouble letting your father go, but parts of that song made you realize that the pain would always be there somewhere, but you had to let go.

You said, “You just become Comfortably Numb.”

I’m starting to remember some of the words now that you spoke to me in my dreams and think I’m beginning to understand.

You spoke these words from that song to me last night;

“There is no pain you are receding…. A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.”

I believe you’re telling me that you’re ok and I should let you go. The pain is still almost unbearable, but I understand now that you will always be with me, watching over and protecting me.

Knowing this gives me comfort, and I understand what you meant when you said,

“You just become comfortably numb.”

I will love you and miss you for the rest of my life, but the time has come, and I have to let you go.

This morning just for a second, as I opened my eyes, I was sure I saw you, out of the corner of my eye, standing beside the bed.

It reminded me of the end of your favourite song.

I caught a fleeting glimpse

Out of the corner of my eye

I turned to look, but it was gone

I cannot put my finger on it now

The child is grown

The dream is gone

I have become comfortably numb."

family
19

About the Creator

Gerald Holmes

Born on the east coast of Canada. Travelled the world for my job and discovered that kindness is the most attractive feature in any human.

R.I.P. Tom Brad. Please click here to be moved by his stories.

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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    Creative use of language & vocab

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    Well-structured & engaging content

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    Original narrative & well developed characters

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    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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