Forgiving Father
Nothing stays the same for long. Things and people change, often for the worse, like with my mother - it seems, but once in a while, very much for the better.
I grew up in a farm, ranch, fazenda or hacienda as some folks call the tract of land or lands, living a life that I took for granted. I had a dog without a leash and mountains on my island Brava, Cape Verde islands Africa or other islands as far as the eye can see in which ever direction I looked, and I awoke to the call of pheasants in the alfalfa fields. My father worked in the City of Nova Sintra was a welder. He was quiet; distant, you might say. He was not highly educated, but he was smart, with an engineer's way to looking at things and problems. He was a man made of leather, brass, cigarettes and chewing tobacco who tried to teach my brother and me useful things, including, respect. he also had a temper, especially when he was drunk. I didn't like him much.
one day I came home from school and his car was already there. Once inside , I was told by my mother that he didn't feel well. His back hurt. My father never missed a day of work; in fact, when he came home, he went to the barn to work some more.
I remember peeking around the corner at him as he lay on his bed in the middle of the day. I was in the equivalent of community college, colégio or Liceu by then.
Multiple myeloma, and prostrate cancer, I learned; myeloma is a type of blood cancer and prostrate cancer is cancer of the prostrate gland. The prostate gland is located below the bladder and in front of the rectum. Prostrate cancer is the most common cancer in men, but it is also treatable if found in the early stages. He was into the late stages, and to late to treat, since he refuses to see a doctor. Myeloma starts in the cells that normally make antibodies for the body to use in its immune response against infections. When those cells become malignant, they make abnormal antibodies like crazy, crowding out the useful ones. As the cancer grows, the person who has it shrinks. The disease saps the body's energy, and the abnormal antibodies cause problems for other cells and tissues. Bones eventually look like Swiss cheese, and when they break, they may never heal. For the last year of my father's life, his entire day consisted of rising from his hospital bed in the living room and walking to his chair to sit and think.
he was predictably in that chair when I came home on day during the sophomore year. I do not remember where my mother and brother were, but the two of us were alone. He asked me to sit down.
What followed still moves me decades later. He told me about his life, his family growing up, what it was like in the World Wars, his loves, his heartbreaks. It was as if a pipe had burst, his inner self reaching out to me in a great flood.
he had been speaking for maybe an hour or more when I realized that he was doing more then just telling. He was asking to be forgiven. All it took was understanding that was what he needed, and I forgave everything, immediately.
When he died , i didn't return to school for a few days. My biggest dread was going back to gym class. It was poorly supervised, and bullies ran the show. True to form, on my first day, i was standing there in my shorts when an all-too-familiar voice bellowed, "Mensch!" It was a guy who had given many of us a few lumps over the yaers. I turned to face him and said, "What do you want?" the other boys didn't say a word as they waited for the beatdown.
"I heard your dad, died," he said, "I'm sorry."
I was shocked . I'm sure I cried. Those words are how I have remembered that kid ever since.
What do you do when your "enemies" reveal that they are, also human? I think you either forgive and move forward or hold on to resentment and live in the past. I'm certainly not glad that my father got sick, but at the same time, I realize that if he hadn't, I might never have come to love him.
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