His father had been dead for three years now. Three long, lonely years filled with pain and confusion.
How could Dad die?
Dads are supposed to always be there for you; they’re not supposed to die. At least not until you’re all grown up and don’t need them anymore. Fifteen is too young to be without a Dad.
His Dad had never been strong enough to be there for him all those times he needed him, anyway. Usually it was the other way around – his Dad needing him, depending on him, being lost without him. But at least he was there, and he was Dad.
Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on that vacation. Maybe if he had been home to take care of his Dad the way he had always done, he would still be alive. He shouldn’t have gone, he knew it. It was all his fault. His Dad had depended on him and he had let him down. Dad had begged him not to go. He had even tried bribing him; offering him anything he wanted, if only he would stay.
But this most recent binge of Dad’s was even worse than most of the others had been. He knew, from past experience, how bad they could get. Mom wanted him and his sister to go stay with their grandparents for the summer, or at least until Dad went back on the wagon. It was tempting. Life was so peaceful in that small town a thousand miles away. Grammy was always baking; filling the house with tantalizing, mouth-watering smells. And Grampy, being the best storyteller in the world, could keep him spellbound for hours with tales from his past. Mark really wanted to go. Mom would be here to take care of Dad. So, with only a slight trace of guilt, he went and, while he was gone, Dad died.
Acute chronic alcoholism – that’s what they called it. But Mark knew better. A broken heart was the real cause of his Dad’s death. His Dad had been a broken man – a man with a broken heart.
Dad was only four years old when his father took his own life. One of seven children, he was the one who never adjusted to this loss. He fought his way through school – the six grades he completed, anyway. He fought anyone and everyone who said anything he didn’t like. He especially liked to fight the kids who still had fathers. They always thought they were so smart. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as them, or as good as them; and maybe he didn’t have as much as them, but he could wipe the smugness off their faces mighty fast. Nobody could fight as good as he could.
Maybe he was the black sheep of the family, like his mother kept telling him. And maybe he was going to turn out just like his father, as his grandmother loved to say in her cutting way. But he wouldn’t let little things like that hurt him. They could say what they wanted; he wasn’t going to be hurt by it. Wasn’t he the best fighter in the school? Why, he even beat John Thomas who was four grades ahead of him.
Life’s grown-up battles weren’t quite so easy to win though. He did his best to fight them – the job he hated, the bills that seemed to climb higher and higher no matter how much he paid on them, a wife too busy “finding herself” to even do what she was told anymore, and two kids who were growing up and suspected he was not the superman they once thought he was.
What was there to live for anyway? He might as well be dead.
Mark went to the graduation ceremony with mixed feelings. He was proud of his accomplishment; excited, and a little bit nervous about these new doors that were opening for him; and he was sad because his Dad wasn’t here to see him graduate.
The time had come. Mark heard them call his name. He stood tall as he walked to the center of the stage. He could see his mother in the fourth row, sitting beside the man who was going to become her new husband. His eyes filled with tears as he reached for his diploma, knowing how proud his Dad would have been.
He felt an unseen presence close behind him as he felt himself being filled with a warm glow; at the same time hearing a voice from inside his head saying: “I love you, son. You’ve done well. Carry on. Do it for us both.”
