Dad.

What…did I think of you?

Scrolling through these endless memories that taint the inside of my mind, I can't find a solid answer. The grainy film covering it all hardly helps.

I remember best when you were disappointed in me. Telling me how little of a man I was when I showed just a little weakness. Or when you told mom to stop having my back. I didn't deserve it. I thought I was better than everyone, after all. I was a quitter. A crier. A liar.

I should hate you. Or hate myself. I definitely hate myself, but not for the reasons you gave me to…not only those reasons.

I…what matters most is, I never hated you.

What matters most is I loved you.

Even if those happy memories aren't mine now,

I hope one day they are.

I hope one day I can remember why I loved you.

-Christopher

…

I read it once, stop, and read it again. The moon hangs high in the sky outside, though all the light I need comes from my way too bright desk light. Still, I let the light burn up my peripheral vision. My fingers tightly grasp the sides of the paper. I can't tell if I wanna cry or wanna scream, but regardless, I refrain from either. They don't seem appropriate for someone I still can't say I feel strongly about.

Those memories, so many years later, still feel distant. I try to collect them in my head, but they don't come. Only the bad ones. Only the worst ones. Damnit…

I fold up the letter and place it back in my desk drawer where I had found it. In all honesty, I had forgotten all about the thing. Dad's funeral isn't…a pleasant day to remember. Standing there, looking down at the letter, I feel a strange sense of missing something obvious. Heh, I'm sure it'll hit me later and I'll feel like an idiot. With that small chuckle, I close my desk drawer, and look over my now completely tidied room. It was a long time coming, quite frankly. It's a miracle I survived so long with it the way it was.

Admiring the newly made walking space, I bend down and run my fingers through the carpet, just…feeling the memories. I smile a bit at the thought of how many times I fell asleep on this floor cause I was too lazy to put myself to bed. Kids. I roll my eyes before standing back up. Well, whatever. It won't matter after tomorrow. I return to my bed and lay myself down, enjoying the comforting feeling of my sheets and blanket, wrapping myself up tight.

Reaching out to turn off my bedside light, I find myself staring at the drawer once again. A part of me wants to read it once more, but I fight the urge.

I turn off the light and lay awake for an hour before finally falling asleep.

…

"Breathe honey!" Things had descended so quickly, I couldn't even try to process it if I wanted to. Standing as close to the wall as my nervous body would let me get, I watched as my father collapsed to the ground, holding his chest and wheezing. Mom was absolutely panicked. Hardly thinking beyond what was happening right in front of her. In my hand, I feel my phone shaking with my grip. Thankfully I was aware enough to call 911.

Still, it didn't feel like enough. My shame kept me pinned to the wall, watching, doing nothing to help. Why? Why couldn't I at least raise a finger? My whole body froze when he turned his gaze up from the floor to look at me. His gaze, full of fear and confusion, was locked squarely on me. What was he thinking? About what it would be like to die? Why did his own son refuse to come and beg him to stand back up?

I didn't know. I couldn't discern anything from his look besides absolute terror.

The ambulance arrived shortly after. I watched as they put him on that cold looking stretcher and carried him onto the thing before mom came racing after them, leaving me alone in the doorway as they all packed up and set off for the hospital, luckily not too far away.

Slowly, I closed the door, and moved to the couch. In the silence of the empty home, I could only imagine my father's terrified eyes. I curled up in a ball and waited for someone to come back.

As it would turn out, that wouldn't be for a while. For that week, I lived mostly on my own. My mom's friend would come by to make sure I made it home from school, but besides that, I was the one in charge of feeding myself and keeping myself safe. It's up to you whether you think a 13 year old is really capable of that. Regardless, by the end of the week, I was finally met with the sight of my mother standing at the door on the way back from school. I remember being so excited to not be alone anymore I nearly crushed her with my bear hug. She did not respond in kind. In fact, I recall she didn't really respond much at all, besides to inform me of one thing.

"Your dad isn't coming back home, honey."

The words didn't really surprise me. It seemed like, after waiting so long, something serious had to have happened. I had no idea what it could have been but, regardless, things had taken a turn I had anticipated. Walking inside with my wobbly legged mother, I helped sit her down on the couch where she remained until she decided to go to bed. I felt just as alone as I had felt before. So, holding onto that feeling, I moved to go to bed as well. Laying on my freshly cleaned sheets from just that morning, I began to wonder…why…why couldn't I shed a single tear?

The question remained unanswered as I fell into a hazy rest.