Those Little Moments

Today there was this moment, a moment in which every fiber of my being seemed to have been hit with an intense electric shock. I could no longer move, my breath caught high in my throat, my stomach in knots, and my heart was overwhelmed by this peculiar feeling of what I can only describe as an over abundance of energy that desperately needed to be released. This moment happened when I realized that I didn’t just say goodbye to my father for what I thought would be the last time while standing in the cold November rain, with red and white flashing lights dancing around us, as the most difficult words that will ever cross my lips were muffled by the sound of a running ambulance. I have had to say goodbye to him in some way, every single little moment since then as well, and every time I do, a piece of me dies. The worst part is that those “moments” seem to be endless. It’s not just the obvious moments like holidays and big events. There are so many others, that are just as, if not more challenging to struggle through, in the darkness of the shadow cast by the immense cloud of despair: that is grief. Every single one of those moments, immediately transports my shattered soul back that “The Moment”, the moment of all moments, the moment that has forced all these other moments to become “those little moments”. It was the moment I spoke those soul shattering words, just as they caught the cool November air and were carried from my lips, I choked on the stagnancy of despair that enveloped my soul, the silence was deafening, and I was left blinded by the darkness.

The first time I heard the word Cancer after losing my father it caused a sadness within me that invoked such an intense feeling of despair it brought me to my knees in anguish and filled me with a hopelessness that seemed almost impossible to shake. Or the first time I called my mother and heard my fathers voice tell me; I’m sorry we’re not able to come to the phone right now...” . I could almost feel my hope and faith attempting to escape me as I’m overwhelmed by an excruciatingly vivid memory of holding in my arms the frail shell of a man who was once my superman. As he faught through every shallow gasp, his weak body grew heavier in my arms. I held him close not wanting to ever let him go. As I kissed his cheek for the last time, a single tear slipped from his tired eye and slid down his gaunt face where it came to rest on my lips, in that moment I knew my dad would never be coming home again. That cold harsh reality permeated to my very core it was as though it were ice coursing through my veins.

But there is one moment that I am dreading so deeply, that I may actually do everything in my power to completely avoid because I know this moment has the potential to completely destroy me. This is that moment after I do something that I know would have made him proud. But this time when I turn around to look for him he won’t be there. I won’t see his face, I won’t see that smile that could have lit up the Coliseum, I can’t look into those baby blue eyes that once were able to invoke pride within myself with just a look. I won’t be able to feel the overwhelming love I always felt in his embrace, and I won’t ever again be able to hear his voice as he speaks the words that almost hold as much significance to me coming from him as I love you...

“I’m PROUD of you”.

The worst part is knowing that every single day of the rest of my life will be made up of “those little fucking moments”, and that every single day at some point I will once again find myself standing in my driveway in the cold November rain, holding my superman in my arms while red and white flashing lights dance around us, my lips lightly pressed to his cheek, as sound of a running ambulance muffles the most difficult words to ever cross my lips which were moist from a single tear he shed...

“Goodbye daddy, I will always love you, I’m so PROUD you were my dad”.