TATER

Hide and seek.

I hear his voice calling my name, and everything stops.  Early memories, and nowhere to hide but within myself.

I see fear in him now, as illness slowly robs his mind of all the past scenes defining him.  His personality shining and dimming, his blue eyes reaching out to me, to bind him to our present.  Is all forgiven?  He hugs me now and tells me he loves me, quite often.  Hiding unpleasant flashbacks and seeking new bonds, he seems to want to explain things to me, but has never had the courage to start.  I have always wanted to know his reasons, but I refuse to force this gift from him.

We play hide and seek from each other, holding up love and understanding to the one courageous enough to bridge the great divide of time, and change.  We dance around the edges as the sands diminish and he slowly disappears.  We are holding each other up with a love paid of forgiveness, even though the transgressions have never been honestly acknowledged or apologized for.  I paid that bill in full, wishing the circles into straight lines, craving an understanding of the man beneath the memories.

I sit across from him as he opens gifts on his birthday.  I see this stranger I so desperately long to know.   Sometimes I yearn to shake him, to rattle something out that can help me understand us.  I am weary of seeking, and its growing much too late.  We will continue to hide behind “I love you”.

He holds out the card my sister sent, a poem of love to a father.  He asks us all to read it.  He forgets we have done so, and extends it again.  I fear I will always remember him this way, trying to prove his lovability with a printed example, appropriating words for validation, sentiment for truth.   Unconditional love has been his for years, and yet he seems preoccupied with digging for scraps he can believe in.  

I realized long ago that the mixed bag of love, fear, and hurt I experienced as his son, are far less severe than the demons hounding him.  I hope that his nightmares will be claimed by his illness before his memories of being nurtured and loved.  I wonder what it is he wishes for when  he lays his head down at night?  What is the ONE thing in his past that he most wishes he could alter?  If I could only know that thing, perhaps I could banish it and gift serenity to him, instead of another tired present of sweater and slacks.  I accept that what is hidden is forever lost to me, but I just can’t seem to stop the need to look for it.