»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
Reverse
| Passions in Prose |
|
Reverse |
|
|
Michael G Senior Member
since 2000-06-25
Posts 579Nashville |
I can still remember the last time he laughed. We had gone to the store together, you know, let’s go for a ride. I left the window open for him so he could feel the air and hear the sounds of the street. All along the boulevards of Santa Monica were the living and the wasted. The smells of a city in transformation, wanting to be more than the sum of its parts. The ocean breeze had come ashore bringing its sweet sort of pungent beauty that only those who live by it appreciate. I loved days like this. I loved the fact that my son would love to take these rides with me. Just to know that he wanted to drive was special, perfect. We never took the direct route to the store, always some detour for us, an adventure. Sometimes going east towards west L.A., where the bars and pubs laid out. Mostly, we traveled the few short blocks to the California incline, following it down to P.C.H. The beach would always welcome us, inviting us in like a kind friend. Most days here you could see for miles offshore. The wind would comfort you, enclose you in its arms. We would drive north for a bit before figuring it out that we needed to turn around. This day was like all the others, nothing too far out of the ordinary to cause me concern. My son had been progressing more slowly than other kids, but we were told by the doctors to not be worried, it was normal for some to do that. He had just turned one, and although we had been given this bit of good news, I was not that satisfied with it. When he was born, he had been the highlight of our lives. He bubbled over with laughter and joy, something I had not seen, or maybe had not recognized, in other children. He was my buddy, someone who liked the same things as me. No, this day was not that different to us and there lays the problem. For that day would be the last time I would ever hear my son laugh on his own. To be more precise, it was the last time he did laugh. We had gone on our ride, finally arriving at the store. I picked him up in my arms and carried him, nothing to it as lite as he was. We had only needed to buy a couple of things, and did so fast. As we exited, the wind caught him, is eyes closed for a second, he tried to catch his breath, and out came this unexpected burst of laughter. I could make him laugh by doing a funny face or tickling him, but this was so natural, so pure. The wind for a second touched him, and let him laugh to me. On the way home he fell asleep, still with a small grin on his face. I carried him inside and put him in his crib, leaving him there to sleep with his dreams. Going down stairs I saw my wife and told her the story. She smiled at first, and then we sat down and started to talk over the past year with our son. We started to analyze what had been going on, what he had done and what he had stooped doing. Right away we both said that he had stopped laughing as much as he used to. He also seemed to be having trouble with locating things. He would see something, pick it up, put it down and then try and remember were he had put it. The more we remembered the more we began to worry. It just did not add up, none of it. Why would my son, apparently normal in all other ways, suddenly begin to go backwards, as though his life were in reverse? We wanted answers, we wanted to know, and we vowed that we would start now. That was five years ago; five years ago we began that journey, only to be hit with the answer we did not want. We went to a specialist, after one of our son’s tests had come back with negative response. As I held him, and my wife bit her fingernails, this doctor told us that our son had a rare disease, one that was very uncommon. Taysachs is a disease of the brain, one where the brain cannot stop the production of fat around it. Eventually it constricts the brain, to the point of causing death. Five years ago I found that my son would die. Four years ago I pushed every answer to the limit, wanting a reason a way of fixing it. Three years ago my son went blind. He could not eat solid foods. He had seizures. He could not move with out assistance. Two years ago, he stopped breathing, not once but three times in a year. I wonderd if God even cared. This year, this became our last. As I sat with him in my arms outside on the porch looking out over the sea, I remembered the wind on a day five years past. I remembered the way he laughed at the wind, like it was a long lost friend coming home. As I sat there with him in my arms, my wife touching my face, I felt the wind come again. It came gently, and even though he was blind, his eyes opened, he took a breath, and then he died. Those moments are ours forever, never to be forgotten. I often go back to them like the refuge they are to me. My wife and I decided to not have another child, for we had ours, and our time was well spent with him. As for my feelings of guilt, they passed and have never returned. Those would be for a foolish man, not for one who had the love of a son like mine. ***Authors note*** I have been writing short stories of late and this is exactlly what it is, a story. Thankfully it has not happend to me, though I do know of it happening to a friends child. Michael G [This message has been edited by Michael G (edited 08-25-2001).] |
||
| © Copyright 2001 Michael G - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
The wind would comfort you, enclose you in its arms. ====================================== As we exited, the wind caught him, is eyes closed for a second, he tried to catch his breath, and out came this unexpected burst of laughter. I could make him laugh by doing a funny face or tickling him, but this was so natural, so pure. The wind for a second touched him, and let him laugh to me. ======================================== As I sat with him in my arms outside on the porch looking out over the sea, I remembered the wind on a day five years past. I remembered the way he laughed at the wind, like it was a long lost friend coming home. As I sat there with him in my arms, my wife touching my face, I felt the wind come again. It came gently, and even though he was blind, his eyes opened, he took a breath, and then he died. Those moments are ours forever, never to be forgotten. I often go back to them like the refuge they are to me. My wife and I decided to not have another child, for we had ours, and our time was well spent with him. As for my feelings of guilt, they passed and have never returned. Those would be for a foolish man, not for one who had the love of a son like mine. ======================================= I've sat here for long minutes trying to find my words, and what to say to this that would do it justice... I wont be able to. Tho not a personal experience....its written like you felt every word and so does the reader. penned from the heart by a father...and an exceptional writer. Do you know I love the way you whisper on the wind... yes..you know *smile*(thru tears) thank you MG, good to find your name here  jmFeels like Im dancin with truth and wisdom |
||
|
Marina Member Elite
since 2000-02-10
Posts 2245Pickering, Ontario |
This is beyond words... You had me on the edge of my seat with every word and a tear in my eye. As the reader, you had me from the very first words and feeling each and every emotion. It truly grips the writer as I could practicly feel the soft touch of this precious child's skin. I like this one very, very much. Marina It is a blessing to have wings for words and passion in pen. |
||
|
snowpants Member Elite
since 2000-09-16
Posts 2061KS |
This is excellent and captivating writing, Michael...although a heartbreaking (for lack of a better word) story, a fantastic description of the events therein...this truly is a great piece! sp  tried to write a letter |
||
|
Marina Member Elite
since 2000-02-10
Posts 2245Pickering, Ontario |
This is simply by far, one of your best...so back to the top for those who may have missed it.  Marina It is a blessing to have wings for words and passion in pen. |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
