Twenty years have swirled past me, to the corners of my mind, my emotion, since the dreaded day of his death. Twenty- eight extra years of experience he bested me, for I was only eighteen at the time. My remorse was epitomized that day. The dynamic character of my youth was forever altered when I heard from the doctor,
"I am sorry son, but your father has passed on."
It ended. I ended. The "it" inside "I" was the doorway of personality my father shared under his paternal influence. The culminations of my goals were him, the simple, yet complex embodiment of what I was to become.
"Where am I suppose to go now?"
"What will happen to me, or my mother?"
My father, the headstone of my family, now has his own. It is the concrete model for the abstract emotions which it represents, sorrow within my solitude.
I weep for the future we will never share.
"Where is our time?"
"Father, you can't go...not yet...it's too soon."
"Who won the big game yesterday?"
Parts of my life are missing. They will never be filled with false substitutions, when only a parent brings something substantial. Catalysts of hope, being my friends, hobbies, and other meaningless excess, do nothing more than feed on my sorrow. My remorse is made contented, but then double-weighted in negativity at night.
My mother is still grieving the loss, even after twenty years. But for her, it's different. He was her partner, her other half, her equal. When half of one dies, what is left? That's what she is and what has been since that day. Her vow of union with father is over. What should have been life-long, ended twenty years ago. Union broke, hearts shattered, and dreams crushed.
Her body is but an empty shell lying on the sterile white bed. This day, exactly twenty years of weathering on her soul since that day he passed, finally shattered her core.
"Son, I do not want to have to say this, but your mother, she, is gone."
The final shock has enlightened me to my new situation. I am now completely alone. The two ties to my past are diminished, as is my outlook. I am alone, and for the first time sorry.
"I did not keep alive the memory of my parents; therefore, they never existed to a meaningful end."