Alexandra
Clutchingaglassof wine in my hand, I park my ass on the deck chair and cast my gaze on the golden full moon bathing the calm ocean with glittering light. The harmonious, pulsing chirps of crickets fill the night air, bringing back memories of being lulled to sleep by their soothing sound as a child. My parents were lucky to find this house with an amazing ocean view, which undoubtedly George would inherit when my parents die. Even if there's a remote possibility of me getting this house, I'd never live here. I don't remember my grandparents, as they died when I was young, but they were caring and hard-working people. What happened to my father to become such a narcissistic, violent monster? Who made him hate women so much? I imagine I'll never know. Sharing the house with my mother is awkward and uncomfortable, especially with the invisible barrier between us. As usual, she pretends everything is okay and when I confront her, she's unwilling to take responsibility for letting my father use us as punching bags whenever he felt like it. Sadly, my brother isn't here to divert her attention. He came out to see my father last week, but couldn't extend his stay because of personal reasons.During dinner tonight, she burst into floods of tears, grasping her chest dramatically while rambling about how she couldn't leave him because he kept her shackled to him with his intense jealousy and stopping her from working after they got married. The cherry on the top was when she said that she stayed with him to give me a home and family, saying she couldn't break her marriage vows. Who on this godforsaken earth would think staying with an abuser is the best way of giving a child a home and family? She must be delusional if she thought she was doing me a favor. I just sat there, swallowing my anger with each bite of my food, forcing myself to stay calm instead of smashing my plate just like my father did when he got angry.
Anger spirals in the pit of my stomach again. Closing my eyes for a moment, I draw in a lungful of the briny air, exhaling it slowly through my lips before going back inside. I've hardly been here for a day, yet I want to go back to Seattle. Back to Sebastian, my annoying-self reminds me. After washing my wineglass, I dash to my bedroom and tear my clothes off. It doesn't take me long to take a shower and get into my pajamas. I jump into bed and snuggle under the covers. My bedroom remains untouched since the day I left the house. It's like it's been frozen in time, from the posters on the walls to my favorite wicker chair and purple bed linen, my book collection, my computer desk and the digital piano I liked to play. Turning off the light, I go deeper under my covers and fold my hands under my head. Each time I close my eyes, all I can see is Sebastian's face, wishing he was here with me. I bring my legs closer to my stomach as anguish pierces my gut, tearing my insides. I miss him so freaking much. Dammit, why did you let yourself get emotionally attached to him, Allie?You shouldn't have let him break down your walls. It's a bit too late for this pep talk, don't you think? I'm utterly in love with him and it's why his betrayal is like a knife to my heart.
All the times I was laying wrapped in his arms and the voices in my head were telling me it was too good to be true. I kept reminding myself to stop being so negative, but it turns out I was flipping right. While I can understand his desire to protect himself, I don't understand why he didn't come clean during the vetting period. He took every opportunity to lecture me on the importance of honesty and trust, letting me bare my soul to him while he kept a huge ass secret. It's an invasion of privacy, plain and simple. Hot tears burn behind my eyelids, threatening to spill down my face. I clench my teeth hard to stop myself from crying. Alexandra, it's very possible your unconscious mind is warning you that you're about to go through a life-changing test. Agnes's words echo in my head. It's funny how my unconscious mind knew something would happen before I knew. Crap, I don't think I'll be getting much sleep tonight. My mind is dead set on replaying stuff like a broken record, and no amount of deep breathing will help me nod off. If Sebastian was here, he would have helped me to get into the quiet space of my mind, where my thoughts aren't racing a million miles per hour. The need to grab my phone and call Sebastian rises in me like a tidal wave, but I ride it out and turn on my side, determined to fall asleep. I succumb to sweet slumber just as the first rays of light pour through my blinds.
Soft whimpers break the silence in the hospice corridor as I make my way through to my father's room. The nurse in charge explained to me that my father has been more talkative and feeling more energetic today, asking to eat and drink. Sadly, the surge of energy usually lasts for a day or two. We called it the calm before the storm phase. I've seen patients confessing secrets they held for too long, forgiving, or asking for forgiveness during this time.
Opening the door, I step into the spacious and homey room. My father's favorite song Fly Me to the Moon plays quietly in the background as he lays propped up in the bed. A cloyingly sweet incense scent wafts in the air, assaulting my nostrils, but no incense or flowers are in sight. It's the odor I can always smell around or on patients before they die. I call it the scent of death. Most hospice nurses know when their patients are near death, but not all can smell it. When I told Heidi she joked, saying I'm an Earth angel who can sense when the Angel of Death comes to take souls to heaven. His lids blink open when I pull up the chair and sit next to his bed. A warm smile flashes across his pale face. I blink rapidly, trying to process what is happening since I've never seen him give me such a genuine smile. I can't bring myself to return one back, and instead I stare at his once strong and healthy body, now emaciated and ravaged by cancer. This is the man who made me wet myself and cower in fear each time he called my name or looked at me across the table. And now, he's a broken shell of a man who no longer holds any power over me.
"Alexandra, you came." His voice holds a slight tremor.
"How are you, Father?"
"I've been better." I open my mouth to ask another question, but a frown clouds his face and his eyes glaze over. "Margaret. You came to take me?"
Who is Margaret? He must be hallucinating, so I don't interrupt him. Most of my patients see their dead relatives or pets before they pass, so this doesn't freak me out. We often encourage family members not to get upset and instead go along with it. His gaze shifts back to me, but he's staring straight through me.
"I have waited for a long time to say these words. I forgive you, sister."
What? I never knew he had a sister. He releases a drawn out, shuddery breath through his teeth before continuing, "All my life, I carried the shame, guilt and rage inside me," he lowers his gaze to his hands resting on his stomach, "believing it was all my fault. I was just a child. You damaged me beyond repair." His face contorts with remembered pain.
Bile rises in my throat, threatening to choke me. Dear Lord, is he saying what I think he's saying?
He shakes his head, scrunching his face into a grimace. "No, I became a monster, Margaret. A monster," he moves his head from side to side, "who couldn't love his wife and daughter. I forgive you. Now leave me in peace."
I clench my hands into fists as a swarm of emotions storm through my veins. Fuck! His sister abused him. What happened to her? Why? How could she? A fresh wave of nausea batters my insides as my mind races. I could never forget the lack of love and affection, his enjoyment of inflicting physical and psychological pain on me, but now that I understand the reason behind his cruelty, I can't hate him anymore. The years of hate just dissolve into piles of ash instead, and gut-wrenching sorrow filling my heart, making it wail in agony for the boy who was robbed of his innocence by someone who was meant to love and protect him.
"Are you okay, Father?" He gives a crestfallen smile, anguish swimming in his almond brown eyes.
The need to console him overwhelms me. At this moment, he isn't the vile person who tormented me, but a vulnerable human being in need of love and acceptance. Unclenching my fist, I move my hand towards his bed, but retract it as if it's been burned by a fire. My soul and mind wage a war inside me. One wants to show him compassion, but the other demands justice, reveling in his suffering. Does this make you a monster like him, Allie?
"Alexandra." My father's voice stops me from spiraling. "When I held you in my arms for the first time after you were born," he sucks in a deep breath, "it was the best day of my life. I promised myself I would keep you safe and never let anyone hurt you. But in the end, it was me who hurt you." He closes his eyes, gripping his bed covers with both hands, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Please believe me, I tried to fight the insidious monster inside me, but you reminded me so much of my sister and I couldn't stop myself."
My father extends his hand in my direction, his eyes silently pleading for me to take it. I stare at his hand, contemplating if I should accept his attempt of apology. Before I can move my hand, he continues. "I've had plenty of time to reflect while lying here in my death bed." He gazes at me, his eyes filled with sorrow, which shreds my heart in two. "Believe me, if I could go back in time, I'd go in a heartbeat to fix all the wrongs I've done to you and your mother. Please forgive me, my daughter." His chest rattles as a pained breath passes through his bluish lips.
My muscles go numb and I lean on the chair, seeking support before I crumple on the floor. No words come out when I open my mouth, no matter how much I force myself. I never expected to hear these words come out of his mouth. I certainly didn't expect him to have the capacity to recognize his mistakes, but it sounds like facing death has helped him grow a conscience and the ability to self-reflect.
"I forgive you, Father." My croaky voice sounds strange and distant in my ears. As the muscles on his face sag with relief, he lets his eyelids slide down, releasing a protracted exhale.
I cover his hand with mine, the iciness of his skin seeping into my bones and making my heart sprint up my throat. The forgiveness might not have come from my heart, but it came from the depths of my soul. My heart will need to catch up. I don't know what to do with his confession and plea for forgiveness. It's just too much for me. My mind can't reconcile the person I loathed with my very being for such a long time with the person who is lying in this bed.
"I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back." My father's lids flick up and drop again.
The conversation must have taken its toll on him. The burst of activity often doesn't last long. Most of my patients have a sudden burst of energy before they die so they can say their goodbyes, forgive someone, or ask for forgiveness. Patting his hand, I rise to my feet and dash out of the room. Leaning on the wall, I take a drag of air, filling my starved lungs. This entire situation is so surreal, it feels as if I opened the door of his room and stepped into a parallel universe.Dragging myself to the onsite café, I grab a coffee and sit at the table overlooking the beautiful, tranquil garden with a stunning water feature. My mind wanders to Sebastian, wishing he was here with me. I need him to wrap me in his arms and never let me go, but I'm still mad at him. You need to decide if you can forgive him and move on, my sensible-self reminds me. Well, if you can forgive your vile father then surely you can forgive him, my snarky-self jumps in. They're both right. Sooner or later, I'll have to face him and let him explain.
Gulping my coffee, I get up and walk back to my father's room. A fresh breeze wafts through the white translucent curtains. The nurses must have come to see him after I left and opened the window. He doesn't stir when I plop down on the chair and cover his hand with mine. I take stock of his slacked jaw, ashen and mottled skin, aware that he is slowly slipping into unconsciousness. His bony, fragile hand grows stone cold with each irregular, shallow breath he takes. The sweet spicy smell lingers in the air stronger than before, telling me his death is imminent.Sadness grips my chest, nearly squeezing the air out of me. If someone told me I'd be sitting at my father's deathbed, witnessing him taking his last few breaths, I'd have told them they needed a psychiatric evaluation. Yet, here I am, holding his frail hand and praying for his soul, hoping in death he will finally find his peace.
Lowering my head, I whisper in his ear, "It's okay, Father. I'm here. You can let go now." He releases a couple of short, sharp gasps before the room goes silent. My throat tightens and vision blurs as hot tears roll down my face.
Goodbye, Father.