Charlie's Daughter

My stepfather was the one
Who made me go see my father

'Your father's dying,' he said, 'You need to go see him'

I asked if my mother knew
That my Dad was dying
And my stepfather said no
She didn't know
And she didn't need to know

He said I needed to know
Because Charlie is my father
And I need to go see him

My stepfather knows the history
I have with my father

The drinking
The fighting
The neglect
The distance
The disasters that occur
Every time we tried to connect
Until I finally just made the decision to cut him out of my life

'I'm sorry,' I said, 'But he's toxic, and I can't allow him into my life anymore.'

There was a pause
And then he said--

'Callie, cut the psycho-babble bullshit and go see your father before he dies, or "toxic" will be the new word you use to describe me.'

My stepfather's been more of a father to me than Charlie
So out of respect
I went to the hospital

By the time I got there
Charlie was already nearing the end
But he was still coherent
Of course

Leave it to him to lead the fullest life possible
Aware of everything
And yet, in complete denial
Of his mistakes and transgressions

When he opened his eyes and saw me standing by his bed
His eyes actually--well, they sort of lit up with surprise

'What the hell are you doing here,' he asked

I told him about my conversation with my stepfather

'Besides,' I said, 'Nobody should have to die alone'

I assumed he knew he was going to die
And he didn't seem that shocked
By my statement

After a few seconds, he said--

'The last thing I said to my father was "I'm keeping the car."  He walked out on me, but I made him leave the car.  As a trade, it was a pretty good deal.  At least the car was reliable.'

I asked if his father was worse than he was, and he said--

'Who would you say is worse:  The father who stays and screws up or the guy who leaves before he can?'

I told him I'd say they're equal
And he said--

'Exactly'

We sort of just waited for a few minutes
And then I realized he wasn't going
Right away
So I sat down

It was quiet

There was the sound of machines beeping
And people walking by in the hallway
But otherwise it was quiet

'I wouldn't have died alone,' he said

At first I thought I misheard him
But then he said it again

'I wouldn't have died alone.'

When I asked him who else he was expecting
He said--

'When you start to die, your memory becomes impeccable.  I remember so many people.  Old friends.  Strangers.  People I met in passing.  I once got mugged in New York while I was standing next to a pregnant woman, and when she went into labor, she and I and the mugger had to share a cab to the hospital.'

Even I laughed at that one

Part of me wondered why he'd never told me that story

Maybe there was a lot he hadn't told me

My father wasn't always the most expressive man

He said 'All the people I remember are swimming in front of my face.  Going up and down like film reels.  You know, it's funny.  I wouldn't say I've had the best life, but when you take it all in--all at once, all the people, all the instances, everything--when you can actually see it all laid out in front of you, it's like a natural wonder.  Like the Grand Canyon.  It's really something.'

Admittedly, when you're that close to a dying person
You do feel the urge
To ask them what it's like

To be in that process

So there was some comfort
To hear my father's description of it

It explained why his eyes were so full
And so alive
Despite the state the rest of his body was in

'Callie,' he said, 'Can you hold my hand?  I know you hate me, but can you hold my hand?  I'm not scared.  I just want to feel something before I can't feel anything at all.'

So I took his hand
And in spite of myself
I felt tears welling up in my eyes

I suppose that's natural

'Dad,' I said, 'I'm sorry it had to end like this.'

And he looked at me and said--

'What other way would I want it to end?'

And with my hand in his
And his entire life
Playing before him
He passed on

And in that moment
I understood what he meant

Nobody gets a perfect ending

Very few people get to die on a beach
In front of a sunset

Most of us will go in hospitals
In uncomfortable beds
Smelling soap on linoleum
Hearing those machines beep
And those feet shuffle by

But if we're lucky
Maybe we get someone there
To sit with us
While we watch that movie
Playing in front of our eyes

And maybe we get to see what it is we've done
And realize we couldn't have done any more or any less

That it just was

And quietly
Fall asleep