In Moments...(Epilogue)

A short biographical story of Love and Death.

  In moments...

 (a short story of Love and Death)  

     I could see the the September rain stain the glass window as it spider webbed downward in mosaic design.  Its scent a light musk, which mixed with the seasalt of the ocean a mile away.  The hospice room was quaint and formal with the bed and its metal rails occupying a small space in the corner of the room.  The  moment was visceral and weighted in sorrow.  Death clung to this place with all its antiseptic devices and impersonal bland colored walls.  There were no singing of Angels, or a tabernacle choir.  Only the sound of a ticking clock, which echoed along with the heart monitor.

     "It's ok, dad, you can go." I said, more like a prayer to comfort myself then anything.  It was a selfish lie, something we say in hopes to heal our own angst.  I was sorry for saying it.  Time was measured in single breaths.  They separated sporadically from seconds, to minutes, labored in their heavy struggle.  How we cling to life as our moment nears.  I held his hand not letting it go and could feel the warmth of that spark we all carry within slowly fading to cold.  Occasionally I would rub his arm in hopes to keep it from extinguishing in a futile attempt to prolong the inevitable.  It was a selfish and pessimistic act.  For as sons we refuse to see our heroes in human frailty. It is shameful. There is no more an ignoble death then the dying in pieces, or so we are told by our fathers.  There are no such truths in death for it is indifferent to our demise.  It doesn't wait for you to dress up, or put on your make-up, to serve our vanities.  It simply waits in the moments that are uncontrollable to us.

     Billions of particles define our creation.  Unseen by our mortal eye.  We are universes, upon universes, upon universes.  Deep within a cellular level exists the energy that first created all things.  It gave birth to time and space and still lives within us.  We are the embers of the first light.  Forever expanding in incremental knowledge, and evolving like the universe we are born into.  There are no illusions to our finite existence.  As beings of energy we simply fade into the ether.  But where do our memories go?  Our dreams, hopes, aspirations?  The self defining qualities that embody the individual psyche.  If we truly are simply the culmination of energy then is our spark visible?

     I could feel the last fleeting warmth of his spark tunnel in and pooling within the palm of the hand I held.  I tried with all my might to keep it burning.  I breathed when he breathed, and held breath when he would stop.  20 seconds, 40 seconds, 60 seconds, over a minute.  I did not f*****g breathe.  I could feel my lungs burn and begged it to stop.  Then.  For the first time in my life I breathed into a world without my father.

     "It's ok..." I said to him, "I'll be ok.  You can go...I'll be ok."

     And as the moments began to fade I felt something.  Profoundly life altering.  An affirmation.  There was a warmth that passed through my hand...like a spark.  Slowly rising upwards like a fading summer breeze. I smiled and it was gone.  I stood and walked to the window and could hear the chirp of a bird, as the rain stopped.

     Epilogue:

     

.    We are afforded in life; moments. Times that are so profound they change us in indescribable ways. These mere seconds of impermanence, like shooting stars that assail the heavens. They exemplify us, heal us, evolve us, or break us. As we live in them we don't realize their fundamental nature...in teaching us, until later in times of reflection.

     You don’t need to define these moments to honor them. Some truths can’t be captured in logic; they live in the breath between heartbeats, in the way you remember their warmth, in the way your voice softens when you speak of them. That is where meaning resides. Not in certainty, but in feeling, and hope. For the hardest part of letting go is the knowing in your heart… you must; because Love demands it. Moments like these are sacred. And so are each of you, for holding onto them with such dignity and grace.

Author's Note

During breaks between writing poetry I went back to look at some of my old work. I ran into this biographical story I wrote about the passing of my father. It's a few years now since he died. It was back in 2002 to be precise. Everything that happened that evening I captured precisely in these words. Though I had always felt something was missing. An Epilogue. I found it too difficult to complete because I get very emotional rereading this story. Because there is a lot of me in it, along with memory of my father. Even to this day I still process that grief like an unhealed wound scarred over. As I completed my farewell words to this chapter my muse approached me with inquisitive thought. "Why put yourself through this again? " She asked kindly. "I don't know...I guess it's because I didn't fully say goodbye, dad." She stared at me with a sympathetic yet motherly aura to her empathetic gesture. "You can not finish what has already been done. You can only remember, learn, and move on knowing it will linger till it's your time for someone to say goodbye to you." She is right like always, a women's gentle intuition. I write this for all of you to remember. I write this for my father. I miss you, dad...always.

Reviews

[Soren]

The first thing that came to mind reading this poem was James Blunt's Monsters and then Dylan Thomas Rage against the dying light. As I read on I was thinking of Einstein's and Spinoza's god that everything is part of everything else a totality of the natural world. A lovely write

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you kindly for sharing your thoughts with me on this short story about grief and loss. I really appreciate it my friend. When my father passed away back in 2002 I stopped writing. I wouldn't write again until 2020. His death had such a profound hold on me and in my process of trying to deal with its aftermath. We don't truly forget such things unfortunately. They stay in the haze of our consciousness occasionally poking at us to remind it's still there. When I finally understand why I had to go through these events if left me to wonder. Did I write this elegy for my father or for myself? Are these the words I want someone to feel in my eventual passing? Perhaps it's both because grief and loss is a process. One that best defines our character and gives purpose to our place in the world. We live in brevity but love eternally. A philosophical truth we are all to explore and experience upon our own road. Thank you again Soren for your comment I truly appreciate and value your thoughts. CLE

[Soren]

You are most welcome Carlos elegies are like poems a way for the living to process their own feelings. The dead know who they are. Your poems are always a pleasure to read.

[Samuel Dickens]

I get it. Completely. We only have one dad, and losing him is a monumental event in our poor lives. Even though mine lived a long 91 years, I was not ready to let him go. Yours is a part of you that cannot be excised or forgotten, and that's how it has to be. Hopefully, your courageous telling of great loss has provided some benefit.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you Samuel for sharing your insights and thoughts with me on this short story. It was one of the most difficult things to write about. My father died back in 2002 and I stopped writing after his death. I literally didn't write again until I discovered this wonderful amazing community in 2021. It was then and during those years processing the loss that my inclination to create again began to inspire me once more. I had tried to write days after his passing which was about one paragraph of this story 'In Moments ' but was unable to go any further then a few sentences. The moment was still too raw to process then. But once I decided to join Writers Cafe everything seemed to click. I was never able to give a eulogy at my father's wake. It took years to write this down in order to honor him and that precious last moment I shared with him. An Epilogue shared between father and son, who may not have understood or truly known one another in life, but do now in this moment and after. I truly appreciate your shared thoughts on this work, for even now every time I read this story I'm still moved by it. CLE

[Betty Hermelee]

Dear Carlos
We live within our feelings, our spark, our warmth, we breathe as they do, and at life's near end unevenly; we hold hands, warmth, hoping it will last, but then it fades to cold as death bears down; we feel anger at first, perhaps because we are not ready to say goodbye; instead you said" it's okay ,dad"....in our hearts we have to say our final goodbye; there is a spark in us that will endure; yet it is in our inner being;
Wonderful tribute, loved the poem
Warmly, B

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I've lived a very complicated life to say the least. My father was very abusive towards me when I was growing up. Even going so far as to place my little hand over a stove burning flame. Years later in my early twenties I would find out the reason why. It didn't lessen my pain but it gave me perspective on why. When he got sick and needed care because of a massive stroke no one in the family wanted to really care for him. So I took on the responsibility for almost fifteen years. Near the end I remember a day coming home seeing him staring out the kitchen window. He had been crying. In his slurred speech he asked me to forgive him. He was the father I'd ever known. The one person in life I feared the most. We don't in life get to choose our family; we only get to love them. Despite their imperfections. It was on that day I said goodbye to the inner pain and turmoil I carried for so long because of him. Forgiveness was too small a word for suffering endured. Only love could fill that space. I told him that there was nothing to forgive because he was the only father I'd ever known and that I love him. He would pass away less than a year later. Even now that moment, that small single amount of time profoundly moves me to tears. As I enter my 60s, the same point in which my father died. I did not live the life of my father. I did not have a family of my own. A sacrifice I choose to make to care for him. Those little things people make with others in relationships and promises. I do not have children of my own. Nor have I lived a fulfilled life. But it is by choice. There are times in life where love asks for sacrifice. I can say in all honesty that I've given mine. CLE

[Betty Hermelee]

Dear Carlos, I had to read this twice because it is so moving, so bittersweet, so powerful in a sense; in my mind you are a true hero and an intuitive one at that…. I’m so sorry you chose not to have a family but with what you’ve been through I honor your choice
Warmly
B🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

[redzone]

Carlos, your words are beautiful. You express a lot of what I have felt, but never realized it. I never got to say goodbye to my dad, or my mom. It leaves one with an emptiness that doesn't really ever go away. My mom would have been 99 in June. And my dad, 100 come August.

I am glad you revisited this Eulogy, Carlos. Both for your remembrance and for realizing he is part of your life still.... "always".

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you kindly, Curt, for sharing your thoughts and your own remembrance of loved ones lost. When my father died I didn't write for almost fifteen years. It felt as if all the words had left me. Like I had lost what I call my writer's eyes. Where we see the world in metaphor and painted with word images. It took years to process what happened that day and try to find meaning in it that was relevant or resonant. But moments like that are indescribable and personal to just capture in prose as well as emotions. I wanted to honor that day because of the profound change I was gifted from it. The passage of time never heal these wounds nor should they ever be. You can never forget moments of love. They are meant to haunt us like ghosts. Like incantations of prosody that linger in song. How does one celebrate death? Heartbreak and joy are incompatible yet both derive their strength from love. It's a beautiful thing that we honor them in memory as to let them know our affections for them is everlasting. They would be so proud of you, Curt, for sharing their memory with such dignity,grace, and love. CLE