Yesterday's Shadow

Either my memory has packed up and set off on an around the world cruise without me or I have simply unremembered moments in my life that should stand out.

For the second time in recent months I was dumbfounded to find that a family incedent that I believed to have remembered clearly has actually developed its own version of Londons' famous fog.

In mid 1980 a friend of my father's called my grandmothers house to pass on some disturbing news.

At this point we had not heard from or about my father for at least ten years.

He told my grandmother that my father had developed inoperable cancer in his bones, lungs and brain. He was terminal and he did not have long to live.

Now is when my memory took a wrong turn from the memories of the rest of my family.

For the past twenty-four years I have carried a black spot of resentment toward my mother. I had until this past weekend never told her but in my soul I blamed her for me not being able to see my father before he passed.

For reasons unbeknownst to me I believed that I had been planning to drive to Northern California to see my father before he passed. I even remember having an agruement with my mother about why she would not let me go. In my heart I remembered being depressed and rebelious for weeks because of her actions.

Fast forward to the present day. I am riding with my mom on the way to her house out in the Arizona desert for a week of R&R. Somehow we came upon the subject of my father's death. Before I knew it my heart was in my throat and my stomach had been left behind somewhere near Ludlow on Interstate 40.

According to my mother (and later confirmed my brother and sister) my dad's friend did call and explain the gravity of my fathers situation. He suggested to my grandmother that if we wanted to have a chance to say goodby we better come quick.

At this point my grandmother brought it to my mothers attention. She said she would be willing to take the Greyhound with my brother and I to go and see him. My mom was reluctent at first but finally agreed to buy the bus tickets so we could go.

My sister was not interested in going. To this day she does not call our father dad when she speaks of him. She calls him by his name. She felt he had deserted her and that their was no reason for her to go traipsing across the state to see him.

It all however became a moot point. The friend of my father called back and explained that he had spoken to my father and that he did not want his childrens last memory of him to be what he had become. A human pin cushion with needles and tubes running through out his body.

So in the end we never made the trip. The bitterness I harbored towards my mothe was wasted. She was not at fault.

As we drove down I40 with the setting sun warming our backs I confessed the grudge I had held against her all of these years and apologized for somehow placing the blame on the parent who has stood by my side for my entire forty-four years.