Asleep

I've abstained from writing for quite some time. I was unsure as to whether I'd be able to convey thoughts and interpretations in a clear and concise voice. Dare I say, words failed me. Perhaps it was I that failed them. This inability to function as a writer cannibalized my emotions until there was barely nothing but a void. Emptiness.

October 29th, 2014. That was when Superman found himself in a hospital bed, barely unable to move or convey words comprehensively. A stroke to the right side of his head rendered him immobile. Asleep. Distant voices and ghostly images became familiar. His head swollen with despair and unimaginable pain. Almost too much to bear.

The nights of October 31st, November 1st and 2nd will never abandon my memory. These were the nights I stayed with him overnight in a hospital room. I watched him sleep, watched him struggle to make sense of it all. In that despair, I wilted physically and mentally. The darkness of those nights enveloped us without restraint like a cloak of desolation. I faltered at times to think clearly, to function coherently as it all unraveled. He simply slept, only to be awakened by pain, discomfort or primitive impulses to get up from the bed. The times that he remained awake for a few minutes, he simply pondered. The agony of the situation etched on his face, this visage I have known all my life to be one of extraordinary love and compassion towards family, friends and mere strangers.

Helplessness can be an overwhelming agent. You want to do more, to see him up, without pain, without discomfort. You give what you can mentally and physically. Never an overtly religious person, I clung to faith. I sought for it in that darkness. I implored for his well being, for no more pain. I never got angry or questioned the implications of the situation. I simply prayed and sat by his bed, watching my old man as he once watched me many moons ago.

It has certainly taken a lot of out of me these past couple of months. You change. Things like these often do change you. It has taken a lot to write this, to revisit recent scars of the soul.

He is now home and under therapy, recuperating. Looking forward to seeing his grandchildren in a few days. The darkness has subsided. Christmas nears.

On November 1st, around 2:30 AM, just days from his stroke, in one of those small windows of time where he remained awake, he thanked me. I asked him what for. He responded, for taking care of me.

There was nothing I could say back to the greatest man I have ever known. My Father.