Untitled
3
1975
He didn't understand the argument that "you'll like children when they're yours." He had never been fond of children. They were loud, obnoxious, and costly, all things he disliked. But he loved her more than anything in this world, and he would do anything for her. She wanted a family and he did everything in his power to grant her of that wish. He paced up and down the hallway, waiting to see his child, cleaned up. Maybe if he saw the thing baby cleaned up, he would have stronger feelings towards it.
He felt devoid of human emotion, but he had always struggled with understanding others. He was so confused when he was confronting what he felt for her. Love was just as curious to him, but he didn't know that he could feel it for anyone but her. This creature child was just another thing he needed to learn how to understand, but seeing her happy made it all worth it.
He looked in and saw the child laying there. He exhaled. The nurse asked if he wanted to see his daughter. He declined.
1982
He was confused. She was deathly ill. The doctors couldn't do anything for her, so they advised him to "make her comfortable." How do you make someone comfortable to die? He stayed close, and kept the kid there, knowing she meant the world to the love of his life.
She passed away on a Thursday as the sun was setting. He took comfort in knowing that she was much like the sunset in her passing, a beautiful end to something already breathtaking. She was so peaceful in her passing, and that was all the comfort he needed. With that being said, he did mourn. Every time he saw that child's face, he saw her.
He saw her all day, every day, in the face of the child. He didn't know it bothered him that much. But later that year, he put her up for adoption. She would have wanted her to be in a family that was able to provide enough love to help her grow. He couldn't promise that.
She left on a Thursday. As the sun was setting.
Present
He fixed his coffee and slowly made his way to the kitchen table. He set it down on a coaster, a habit he didn't break after her passing. He read the newspaper in silence. He took in his environment. His dinner consisted of a variety of vegetables. He was a plain and ordinary man still. He took comfort in being alone.
He worked in a factory for years after her death, and sustained intense injuries from an accident on the floor. He never once blamed anything but himself for it, even though he parted ways with his left arm. He moved on, and learned how to do things with one hand. He had gotten quite talented at balancing things. He saw it as symbolic. He had never been completely whole since her death, and now he was physically showing it.
To supplement his income, he rented out the upstairs apartment of his house to a young woman who needed it. He saw this as a necessity but was okay knowing there would be someone else in the home as well. It was practical, and he couldn't argue practicality.
After all, practicality killed her. And he was trying to come to grips with that on his own terms.
Until then, he read the newspaper and drank cold coffee as the sun was setting, trying to find a way to feel her presence in his everyday actions.
He didn't understand the argument that "you'll like children when they're yours." He had never been fond of children. They were loud, obnoxious, and costly, all things he disliked. But he loved her more than anything in this world, and he would do anything for her. She wanted a family and he did everything in his power to grant her of that wish. He paced up and down the hallway, waiting to see his child, cleaned up. Maybe if he saw the thing baby cleaned up, he would have stronger feelings towards it.
He felt devoid of human emotion, but he had always struggled with understanding others. He was so confused when he was confronting what he felt for her. Love was just as curious to him, but he didn't know that he could feel it for anyone but her. This creature child was just another thing he needed to learn how to understand, but seeing her happy made it all worth it.
He looked in and saw the child laying there. He exhaled. The nurse asked if he wanted to see his daughter. He declined.
1982
He was confused. She was deathly ill. The doctors couldn't do anything for her, so they advised him to "make her comfortable." How do you make someone comfortable to die? He stayed close, and kept the kid there, knowing she meant the world to the love of his life.
She passed away on a Thursday as the sun was setting. He took comfort in knowing that she was much like the sunset in her passing, a beautiful end to something already breathtaking. She was so peaceful in her passing, and that was all the comfort he needed. With that being said, he did mourn. Every time he saw that child's face, he saw her.
He saw her all day, every day, in the face of the child. He didn't know it bothered him that much. But later that year, he put her up for adoption. She would have wanted her to be in a family that was able to provide enough love to help her grow. He couldn't promise that.
She left on a Thursday. As the sun was setting.
Present
He fixed his coffee and slowly made his way to the kitchen table. He set it down on a coaster, a habit he didn't break after her passing. He read the newspaper in silence. He took in his environment. His dinner consisted of a variety of vegetables. He was a plain and ordinary man still. He took comfort in being alone.
He worked in a factory for years after her death, and sustained intense injuries from an accident on the floor. He never once blamed anything but himself for it, even though he parted ways with his left arm. He moved on, and learned how to do things with one hand. He had gotten quite talented at balancing things. He saw it as symbolic. He had never been completely whole since her death, and now he was physically showing it.
To supplement his income, he rented out the upstairs apartment of his house to a young woman who needed it. He saw this as a necessity but was okay knowing there would be someone else in the home as well. It was practical, and he couldn't argue practicality.
After all, practicality killed her. And he was trying to come to grips with that on his own terms.
Until then, he read the newspaper and drank cold coffee as the sun was setting, trying to find a way to feel her presence in his everyday actions.