Hands of Today

They used to call him Popeye because his hands and his forearms were so muscular. Now his hand was sharp and bony against mine. I didn't want to squeeze it afraid it would crumble or break. The skin was translucent, thin like tissue paper. If you rubbed hard it would disintegrate away.

"Sis"

"I'm here dad."

"Sis, I need a drink of water."

I grabbed the cup of water and held the straw up to his cracked lips. He barely took a sip. His strength barely enough to pull the water up the straw. The nurses told me that he shouldn't be thirsty, one of the many IV's was hydrating his body while the others where delivering medicine. His eyes closed again and he was silent.

It's funny the rhythm of life, the practices and habits we fall into. Like taking a sip of water. They are mundane habits, that we often never think twice about, we never question. They are the functions of this life that we often take for granted or dismiss for necessity, but in the end they are comforting.

I sat in the abyss of the unknown. He was in critical care. That big huge heart of his was giving up. That heart that outpoured love all his life could no longer keep up the strength to do it's job.

My dad was dying.

Those words hung in my brain, in the tears that I did not want to cry. I knew the truth.

No one had said he was dying, no doctors had straight out told me this was it, they were fighting. They were trying new medications for his heart, drugs to help him pee out the liquid that was bloating his body. I could see their faces when they came into his room. I could hear the nurses whispers in the hall. It was all a last effort, one final hail Mary to prolong his life a few more months maybe a year. If we are lucky.

I needed some air, it was so confining and stuffy in that room. I just needed a break. The guilt of being able to walk out of that room, away from the bed and down the hall was surmountable. It clawed at my back, wanting to pull me back into the room.

"How could you leave, if even for a moment!" The scream echoed through my head.

I should not leave him, I should be there.

What if I am not there and he leaves.

What if he leaves without saying goodbye?

What if he leaves and I wasn't there to say goodbye?

Wasn't there to hold his hand?

My feet walk faster down the sterile hallway. I am almost there almost to the door. My hand reaches out for the metal push bar, clunk, swoooooshhhh.

I stumble into the arid Arizona heat. It feels horrible, suffocating but I invite it into my lungs with a deep drowning breath. I want it to burn away the sterile smell. The smell of hospital soap and death. I want it to burn me down. Take my grief, take my sadness away. I invite it to take my hurt, to create a different pain. Anything but this grief this sadness that is an unbearable weight. I want pain that will extinguish the immense rage of loss that is already burning through me.

"Hey" the voice comes from the other side of the phone.

Familiar, soothing my burns, soothing my heart.

"Babe, are you there?"

"Hi." is all I can squeak out at that moment.

"Are you ok?" those simple words break down the damn and the torrent of emotions flood my body completely.

Fear, of losing my dad.

Grief, of losing my dad.

Anger, of losing my dad.

"I'm going to come down there. The kids and I are going to drive down there to be with you." That dark honey soothing voice telling me everything I want to hear.

"No, not yet." I barely got out the words.

"I don't know yet. I don't know what's going to happen yet."

I knew what was going to happen, I know what was coming. I just could not say it. Because saying it out loud would be making it come true. Saying it out loud would mean that I believed it was happening.

"Not yet. Wait, till we know more." I really wanted to scream get here as fast as you can. Come hold me please. come make this all right. Fix it now. I knew even he could not fix this.

"Are you sure?" The hesitation in his voice. He was mourning too.

"Yes, I am sure. I love you so much. I miss you and the kids."

I picked my feet up off the hot tiles in the healing garden and found a bench to sit on. The sting of the heat on the back of my thighs felt good. I invited the burning in, let it takeover.

I sat quietly, I suppose that was the intent of the healing garden. A place to regain your strength, gather your composure. In the silent flashes of memories flooded in, overwhelming my pain. Memories that were hazy at the edges like mirages in the desert sand.

One of my favorite core memories surfaced soothing the burn. I was sitting on the hood of the white mustang, my short legs dangling down in the brown leather shoes I was wearing. My baby blue windbreaker scratched and crinkled as I moved around. The wind off the San Diego harbor was cool as it played with my blonde curls pushing them across my face. There it was, my dad's hand, big strong and comforting wrapped around a Wendy's frosty. He held it for me as I scooped out a bite. My five year old hands still not quite adept at handling a large spoon. I had more down the front of me than in my mouth. We were parked along the fence by Lindbergh field watching the planes land and takeoff. I wish I could reach out and grab that hand. Place my chubby little fingers in his and feel the comfort and warmth of them again.

I could feel the tears prick at my eyes, I could not waste any more energy on crying. There was none left to give. I had to save it to be there for him.

I heard the metal door open, the swoosh and clunk all to familiar now. I feared looking up. I feared seeing his nurse looking for me to tell me it was the end.

"Child, can I sit with you?" came the melody.

I was slightly taken aback that this woman's eye sight must be really bad. I was a forty three year old woman that she was calling a child. Her sugar spun hair was crowned by the sun. Her bright smile set against the golden brown skin and hands that reminded me of a favorite quilt worn with love. I felt warmth and comfort at the nearness of this stranger and did not want her to leave.

"Please do." I scooted over trying to make more than enough room.

"My child, your tears, your sadness what causes them?" she asked and all I wanted to do was lay my head on her shoulder.

"My m-m-my dad is..." I paused unsure of the words to use next. The sound that came from her was not a word but was soothing, knowing. There was no need to say more. She took my hand in both of hers. I could feel the warmth. Not like the desert heat this was comforting and cool all at the same time. It was reassuring and uplifting.

"I wish I could go back in time and change things I have said, change things that have happened to my dad and make his life easier, better and maybe he wouldn't be here."

Where did that come from? I thought. It's like I just word vomited my deepest thoughts that I hadn't even realized yet. To a stranger. She was a stranger yet I felt like I knew her. I felt like I've always known her.

"My child," she paused her eyes softening and taking me in. Why did she keep saying my child?

Who was she?

"I can grant you the ability to travel back only one time, but beware the consequences of knowledge. If we knew the outcome of our decisions our destiny would be rewritten and the strings of fate rewoven. Life may not be better the way we think it would be."

Grant me the ability to travel back in time?

What did she mean?

That is ridiculous.

Is this a dream?

When did I eat last?

I reached down and pinched my leg. The sting was bright and vivid. I was awake.

"Sleep my child, your dreams will take you where you need to be. Again beware for the tangle of fates strings effects more than one and none at the same time. You will see the outcome of your destiny if any when you awake. Take heed for once set in motion the spell you can not break."

Again with the nursery rhymes. I must be dehydrated because all of this is going to my head it feels so heavy. Nothing makes sense right now. I need to go inside and get something to drink, out of this heat.

Why won't my feet move?

Dizziness overcomes me. I think I am going to be sick.

I am just going to lay my head down in her lap for a moment.

Breathe, in and out.

Am I going to throw up?

My eyes are so heavy, so tired.

****

My cheek is raw beneath the stone bench. I can feel the drool pooling. Oh crap, how long was I out. Oh no! I sit up with a jolt. Trying to orient myself, I have to get back to my dad. I have to get back, what if he's.....

Where am I? My head is so heavy. It's so cold.

It's cold. Wait, where am I?

I am laying in what seems to be an alleyway. Oh my gosh do I have all my body parts!!! Ok no blood. No pain. No cuts.

My head, my ears are ringing, my mouth feels full of dirt.

"My child?" came the honey laden voice from somewhere in the darkness.

I have to get away, I have to get back. I scramble against the stone cold wall, my breath is hard and fast I am ready to fight. Even though there is no one there to fight only the voice.

"My child, remember what I said take heed, do not interfere with what has been set in motion." The voice floated away, reminding me of the Cheshire cat that spoke in riddles to Alice.

Was I Alice? Had I fallen down the rabbit hole?

My surroundings were coming into view, I was wedged between a brick wall and a dumpster that smelled. Oh my gosh it smelled. I retched. The smell was so overpowering, I am sure it was a dumpster full of roadkill. Maybe I was behind the hospital?

I peeked from behind the dumpster covering my nose and mouth with arm hoping to quell the horrid smell. I mean my goodness did this ever get emptied! When I got back inside I was definitely going to complain! How did she get me out here without anyone noticing her carrying me. I was surely passed out and limp. Plus how did that old lady carry me?

I walked down the alleyway making my way to the side of the building, the roar of cars growing louder. This can't be the hospital. Nope it was not the hospital it was Kelley's Irish Pub. Why does that sound familiar?

The neon signs make my eyes hurt. They are so bright and the flashing Miller Light sign makes noises explode in my head. I open the heavy metal door to the sounds of a dive bar. A juke box plays honky-tonk 80's country tunes somewhere, while the sounds of pool being played echo in the back. Voices are loud and the stench of cigarettes tempts my stomach to retch again. I hold it down amazed that they have not been shutdown for indoor smoking! I mean where was I back in time twenty years!

A glass of water and a phone! That is all I need. The sounds of peanut shells crunch under my feet and I am disgusted. This is the grossest bar I have ever been in. I guess they don't refer to them as dive bars for nothing. I climbed onto the empty stool, damn being short.

A small petite blonde with a big painted on smile and hair teased even bigger all but danced over to me.

"Hello sugar, my name is Tamara. Like the Russian Queen, Tamar." She flipped her hair and gave me a toothy grin all but plopping her gigantic breasts on the bar in front of me. Was I being punked? Where the hell was I?

"What can I get you darling?"

"Ummm," I stammered. "Water."

"Darling you know you are in a bar right?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure where I am."

"Oh, honey you are at the infamous Kelley's Pub."

That name. I know this place. Memories came flooding back to me, like a torrent of emotion. This was my dad's old stomping grounds this is where he went everyday after work. Where he....my mind trailed off. Why was I here. There had to be a reason. Was this some suppressed memory, that was locked away and now vibrant with the emotional havoc that I was in?

"My child.." the voice was faint. "You wanted to know, wanted to see what history led you to the moment of despair you are in."

Come on! Was this for real! Who knew my imagination was this good! This dreamscape was nothing short of amazing. Maybe I was in the hospital and I needed to wake up! I heard that dehydration can cause you hallucinate. That was it. I was hallucinating!

Come on Tam, wake up. If I pinch my leg will that help? No luck and that was silly.

"My child, my child." I was getting really tired of hearing that. "What the hell is this?" I muttered under my breath. The bathroom, I need to find the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. That would help.

"Bathroom?" I almost screamed.

"Sweetheart no need for panic. Third door on your left behind the jukebox. Sweety you ok?" her blonde bangs did not even move as she bounced behind the bar. She stared at me with shock and concern. How bad did I look? I slid off the stool, my legs unsure and eyes darting at everything around me. I found the bathroom door, behind the cigarette machine.

The water was cool and refreshing against my skin. It was more relieving than shocking enough to wake me up. I looked up and stared at myself in the mirror. Was I going crazy? Would I ever see my dad again? My family? Was this some sick psycho fantasy kidnapping? The tears began to fall, I could feel myself losing control and slipping down into the darkness.

"My dear child," cooed the voice. I wanted to throw something at it. To rip the toilet out of the floor and throw it at the voice. Damage it as much as I felt damaged in this moment. I looked up and there was her face in the mirror. Here was my chance to figure out what the holy hades was going on.

"I demand, you tell me what is going on right now!!!"

"My child, I granted your wish. You may not have asked it but you were grieving it. I brought you back to the moment of impact. The moment in history that caused the ripple into where your dad is today. The moment that you need to understand."

"What?"

"Back in time?"

"That is impossible? Right?"

"Only if you believe it to be impossible."

"How do I get back?"

"I will take you back at any moment you choose and are ready.

Are you ready?"

Yes, sat on tongue waiting for me to hurl it between my lips. Only it would not move. I had a chance to possible change my dad dying? How could this be? If I go back I will sit by his side and slowly watch him die. What if I can buy him one more year or two more years? These thoughts all raced through my head one after another crashing against each other like a demolition derby.

"What are the rules?" There are always rules. In the fairytales you usually don't find out what they are till the end and all hope is lost. I was not going to take that chance.

"There are no rules. Just know if you mess with fates strings, what you now know will not be known in the future." Why must she always talk in riddles.

"How long do I have?"

"Once you have past the moment of truth you will be pulled back to the future. "

"How will I know?"

"You will know."

I stood staring at myself in the mirror. If this was a dream than I would wake up and if it was possibly a way to save my dad, to stave off his last breath for a little longer than I was going to take it.

I gathered my courage, pasted on my best smile and walked out of the bathroom.

Determination set in and the realization that this was my chance to play a part in fixing everything.

"Queen Tamara!" I called, causing a giggle to escape the small blonde frame. "I changed my mind, vodka soda, please."

"That will be $3.75, my luv." She coo'd at me.

I reached in my pocket forgetting that I did not have my purse, but hoping that my small wad of cash and cards was still in my pocket. I quickly found that it was and pulled out the crisp $5 bill.

"Keep the change." I chanted.

She set the glass down in front of me, the slice of lime bobbing back and forth on the bubbles that were escaping to the surface. As I lifted the black straws to my lips. I spun on the stool and glanced at the bar, there he sat. His black hair, square jaw and Popeye arms. It was my dad. he was fifty years younger but it was my dad.

What do I do? Do I just walk up and say this is a dream but I am your daughter from fifty years in the future?

No that would make me look like a psycho.

I watched through the corner of my eye. I watched as he flirted with Tamara. I watched him down beer after beer and cigarette after cigarette. I noticed the sadness in his eyes. The sadness that no one else saw. I saw how he flirted with Tamara, pinching her butt as she walked by. Dancing her around.

Was my mom in the picture at this time? I don't even know what year it is.

More beer, more cigarettes. More laughter.

He was drunk. He was loud. Obnoxious.

"When I have a daughter I am going to name her after you, love, Queen Tamara." he announced loudly to her.

This I knew to be true. That was my name. Funny I never knew I was named after the Russian Queen who worked in an Irish pub. I chuckled to myself. My mom had wanted to name me Kimberly. I definitely was not a Kimberly. Boy did I have a story to tell my kids.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, "Honey, I hope one day you find happiness and make some women just as happy and have lots of baby girls and name one after me."

There it was the sadness again. It flashed across his face swiftly.

"No one will ever want me. I am a bad man. A man no one could love."

Oh dad, I sighed under my breath. If only you knew how far from the truth that was.

His past was unknown to me until the sickness took hold of his heart. Then the stories just started to pour out of him like he needed to let them go. They were the poison that had lead him down the path of self destruction. The poison that sat in his gut, the shadows that haunted his dreams.

The stories flashed before me,

A child left on his grandfathers doorstep abandoned by his mother.

A child whose best friend & stepbrother was tragically killed.

A teenager stealing cars.

A young man in Vietnam serving his country in a way no man should.

A young man in shackles in his home town because he served his country.

A man studying for his GED behind bars.

A man working for the mob, collecting money running storefronts.

A man on his knees with a gun to his head.

A man on his knees finding his sobriety.

A man fighting the demons that tore at him daily.

A man laying in a hospital bed on the precipice of death.

What could I do here? I couldn't wipe away the hurt, I couldn't make him believe. I couldn't make it all change for the better. Who knew how much time I had. He didn't know who I was in this moment.

"Honey what would you do with a daughter?" Tamara asked her blue eyes glinting with playfulness. "You would never let her leave the house."

"I hope one day, I am blessed with a daughter. A daughter that is full of laughter, strong and bold. A daughter that loves and can love me for all my faults and mistakes." His eyes were staring past Tamara at his reflection behind the bar.

I felt the pinpricks of tears hit my eyes. I felt the breath slowly leave my body. He glanced over at me and smiled. I held his gaze and smiled back. Did he know who I was? Could he guess?

"I am afraid a son will turn out like me." He looked down at the beer in his hand like it was weapon. Then he drew a long drink from the longneck.

Did he know what the future held for him? He had a son who had lived a life of addiction, a life of fear. A son who had fallen into the same crutches as my dad. His son had found his way out of the dark hole in his life sooner thanks to this man. A man who never gave up on him. A man who understand the dark hole and was always there to pull him up.

Was I everything he wanted? Did I turn out like he hoped I would. My mind wondered. The thoughts consumed me. I never knew this side of my dad. I had only heard the stories from my mom. They were jaded and focused on his faults. The goodness stripped from them.

The vodka was strong. My brain was fuzzy.

My eyes were so heavy.

*************

When I awoke, I sat on the bench in the healing garden. My hands folded in my lap. The sweat running down my back under my bra band.

I had not changed anything. I wasn't even given a chance. It was a small moment in time. I was still here. I had done nothing to change the future to save my dad. I had failed. I was a failure. I was not the strong daughter that he wanted.

I gathered myself, wiped my eyes.

I walked through the steel doors back into the hospital stopping in the restroom. The cold water on my hands was inviting. I splashed it on my face and poured it on my neck the relief poured into my muscles.

"You can do this." I said to the face in the mirror. I could face the fate of today knowing I had a chance to change it and I failed.

I took a million steps back to the room. It felt like I walked the journey of a life time in this minutes. When I walked in everything was the same. Nothing had changed. What had I expected from a dream?

I pulled up the chair and reached for his hand. So thin and frail.

His eyes opened, he stared at me. The milky white around the blue eyes that I remember from the bar. The blue eyes behind the black hair and the dark skin. Now the hair was white and sparse. The olive skin was pale with dark liver spots. Signs of age, the greyness of death.

"I saw you there that day. I sat in the bar talking to Tamara and saw you there. I remember staring at you and thinking I hope I have a daughter like her one day." he mumbled the words. They caught me off guard.

I wasn't sure what to say. How had he know about the dream?

"Dad, what?" I stammered, maybe I am still dreaming.

"You are everything I ever imagined and hoped you would be and more." A single tear fell down his cheek. "My life was a mess, but out of that mess came the beauty of my children. You are the apple of my eye." His eyes closed, and he nodded back to sleep.

The tears flooded my cheeks as my mouth drew up into ugly crying mode. The outpouring of love in that moment. The immense amount I felt flooding me for this man and from this man overwhelmed me.

It was never about him. It was never about saving him. It was about saving me. It was about understanding that we would not be here today, we would not be the people that we are without the journey. Going back in time was not to change the path it was to understand it.

"My child, you have the greatest gift of all." The voice filled my head. I could smell honey and grass and the softness of those hands stroking my cheek. "You have seen the moment of truth and walked away with the gift."

I stood at my dad's gravestone, the smell of fresh dirt filling my nostrils. I couldn't move, I was rooted to that spot. The tears dried up long ago. My cheeks raw with them. It was a breezy sunny day, one that played with your hair and brushed goose bumps on your skin.

On that breeze I heard him, I heard his voice, his laugh. I knew he was there. I knew he was proud. I was his daughter, named after a Queen working in an Irish bar.