Time Is (Ir)Relevant
He looks down at his sleeping son. Although the boy is only six weeks old, the father feels like he didn’t know what life was before the child was born. Was there a time when this small angel didn’t exist? The father couldn’t imagine a life without his son. It seems he can’t remember what his life was before.
The father cherishes his son in that moment, trying to commit every detail to memory. Even the blemishes, even the flaky cradle cap, is precious to the father.
A flash.
Vertigo.
The son is much older. An adult. Father and Son are having a heated debate. What they argue the father can’t say. All the father feels is anger, devotion, and sadness.
The son is a little younger, and the father has found something in his son’s room. Something that makes him chuckle in reminiscence, but is also some cause for concern. How is he going to tell the son’s mother?
The son is younger still, playing tee ball. The father never had any interest in sports before, but he never misses a game.
The son is much older and looking down at the father. The father is laying very still. He is wearing a suit he has never seen before. He can not turn his head, though he’s certain he is laying inside a box. A single tear falls to splash on the father’s clasped hands.
A flash.
The father finds himself gripping the side of his son’s crib. He looks down at his white knuckles and finally gets one hand to release and wipe the sweat from his brow.
Was it all a dream? It felt so vivid, so real. Had it been a product of his active imagination? A vision of things to come?
Or was all of this happening at once?
Head spinning, the father turns to leave. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, he whispers one more ‘I love you’ before pulling the door closed.
I’m always looking for new ways to express myself. I thought I’d try to wrap some feelings into a fiction story. Let me know what you think, and have a great FatherHood Friday!
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Tags: Fatherhood, Fatherhood Friday, Fiction
