Rebirth in the Presence of Death

A young man is reborn after the death of his father.

How many years had I dreamt of escaping this place before I finally achieved my dream? Five years? Six?

How many years had it been since I’d been back? Hell I can’t even remember.

Long enough that what was once familiar, what was once considered home, now seemed foreign.

Completely unfamiliar despite nothing having really changed. The same lazy house, on the same lazy block in the same lazy town.

Only the cars filling up the street in front of what used to be my home hinted at anything different.

Father died two weeks ago. That was one of two things that could have made me come back.

I’d hoped I’d never have to, but if there is one thing I’ve learned it is this.

Give life enough time and it has a tendency to take what you want least and shove it in your face.

Cancer finally got him. Gripped his lungs and refused to let go. A fighter until the end he lived six months longer than the best prognosis.

Fighters get old and frail though. Mom is shattered, and I hate him for doing this, but I have no choice.

The only benefit of being freelance is the ability to live anywhere you want. This is also the only con.

It allows me to move back to this place. It forces me to become a foreigner in my hometown.

My possessions are being shipped here as we speak. My passions remain half a country away.

I inhale deeply off the same thing that killed my father. The warmth that fills my chest reminds me why he nor I could ever quit.

It is the only thing that is familiar in this desolate oasis in the middle of flyover country.

I can feel it before I see. The air becomes heavy with moisture, and I can feel a breeze kick up.

I see the first signs of the coming storm. Clouds begin to form a wall outside of town. A silent army advancing slowly, the only sound it makes is the gentle rumbling of its discontent.

I stand firm as if in challenge. I dare it to advance on me, and my home. For a moment I am a kid again.

I hear the footfall of the soldiers falling gently at first, but they quickly pick up and cover me. I raise my arms in surrender.

Not only to the army but to this town, a smile, inexplicably on my face.

In the rain, at the house my parent’s lived in and my father died in I am baptized, born anew.

© Whackadoo Publications/Clay Pulse 2008

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Strange how we see things so differently when the past becomes the present at the loss of someone so important in life. Memories and re-looking sort of muddle together, life in a place takes on another meaning.

There's a slowly arriving picture here, softly and clearly written .. the way you add clues ' I inhale deeply off the same thing that killed my father. The warmth that fills my chest reminds me why he nor I could ever quit. - It is the only thing that is familiar in this desolate oasis in the middle of flyover country. '

These words introduce a quite optimistic ending to what's been a traumatic time: 'I hear the footfall of the soldiers falling gently at first, but they quickly pick up and cover me. I raise my arms in surrender. Not only to the army but to this town, a smile, inexplicably on my face. .. In the rain, at the house my parent’s lived in and my father died in I am baptized, born anew. '

That need not be an ending but a door opening ..