Moments in Time

The house is dark and quiet, almost tomb-like. The rest of the family slumbers in the deep, darkness of night. I lie awake, unable to quiet my mind. The red glow of my bedside clock informs me that 3.am. is not the time to rise for my day's activities. I ease back into a hypnopompic state. That range of anomalous experiences which surround periods of sleep and are conducive to extraordinary, subjective phenomena.

I see it all so clear, March, 2004. I stumbled out of the hospital into the world that I know, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The smoke slowly mingled in the wind, almost tauntingly, and while glancing across the chilly, early morning sky, a flock of brown, speckled birds flew overhead, majestic and free. The sun was rising gracefully and the glare of the light caused me to wince and recoil. Normally, I love sunrise, the beginning of a new day, hopes and dreams awaiting to be harnessed. Yet, this wasn't any normal day,  I had woke abruptly a few minutes earlier from a hospital lounge chair, as if I knew, and stumbled into his hospital room. I got there just in time to watch him breathe his last breath. I stood there, helpless and numb, his lifeless body looking pale, yet peaceful. A thought shrieked through my mind "I have just watched my father die".

I just knew he would live forever. "He can't really be gone, this is just a dream" I deduced. One of us will wake up soon and we will be arguing over my faults and shortcomings anytime now, just like normal. I feel small. The world seems bigger, harsher, and more confusing. His death wasn't a surprise, he had fought lymphoma with the steely perseverance that he used to survive an impoverished upbringing, actually lasted years longer than the "experts" predicted. It is so like him to "have to have it HIS way"! He was a fighter, but in the end we all lose, no matter how strong. Flashes of memories, bursting with clarity flood my consciousness. I remember mundane and innocuous moments of life he and I shared together that are no more composed in time than leaves in the wind. I take another deep drag off my cigarette and let the nicotine and memories permeate my body. I remember our fishing trips, our fights over useless dissimilarity, taking him to chemotherapy, fixing up an old car, changing his clothes when he was too feeble, and drowning in the desire for him to love me. These feelings are overwhelming, uncontrollable, and necessary. 

The hypnopompic state violently shifts my consciousness to an earlier time period in my life. This memory is less clear, yet just as intense.

Four years ago, almost to the day, I stood in this very same hospital and watched the glorious birth of my son. He was a joyous present from God that transformed my life into something meaningful. I now had a beautiful daughter and an heir to my name! How could such a degenerate, selfish, vulgarian like myself be the recipient of all these blessings. I still don't know the answer to that question. I never knew how transforming the birth of children could be to your soul, if you choose to let the power of life in. I was on cloud nine. I ran out of the birthing room, smiling with fear, and hugged my father, knowing now what he felt some 33 years ago. We were kindred spirits, my father and I, at that moment in time. The son had become a father to a son. I could see in his eyes, the joy, the fear, and the responsibilities that I would now face. He saw into me, letting me know that he hoped I could become a better man, maybe, a better father.

As I drift back to sleep, I come to know that the whole of life is but a moment in time and the boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague.