I believe it was the summer of 2009. That time was such a blur, I kind of can't recall exactness, unless I went back and researched in my calendar or journal. The year isn't really important.
One Sunday morning I got a call from some Doctor in Florida. The tone of his voice was that of an old man who had seen and worked many days of tragic medicine. My automated response to his voice and words were that of instant distrust, he was an outdated version of Derrick Shepherd......and I wanted Dr. Shepherd. However, it wasn't too long before that shifted and I found myself on a plane to Florida to attend to what this Dr. felt were going to be my father's "last days".
Dad was found unconscious, non responsive, was on life support and not making any progress. My ex didn't really know how to process my father, and nor should he have...my ex came from a very stable and loving home......my dad didn't fit into his world. The choice to go alone to Florida was all mine. I needed to do this alone, I needed to get through whatever I was going to get through, on my own terms.
I got a room in a hotel that was opening it's doors just that weekend. It was the kind of hotel that was two floors with access to all the rooms on a balcony walkway and neon things lighting the shadows. There were only about 15 rooms in the hotel. Cute, potentially creepy. It was the end of June and I rented a convertible to carry me around Miami. It rained for most of the time I was there, in fact, I think it was the hardest rain I'd ever driven in.
I was only supposed to be there for four days, how many days do you stay when your dad is dying ? I went to the hospital not knowing what to feel or how I was going to do once I got there. He was in the ICU, hooked up to all those things one is when they are on life support. I just stood there looking down at him. Feeling not much of anything.
I'll remember that nothingness for a long time. In some ways I felt like he was in a better place, in other ways I felt such remorse for a life that could have been beautiful. You see, my father was a good man. He was affectionate and funny, at times charming. Much of my personality comes from him, the parts of me that connect so easily to people. He could pull himself together from time to time and be the man he wanted to be. However most of what I saw of him was addiction. So I looked down and felt nothing. Except a desire to not end like that. The fear of a destiny predetermined started to creep in during my time in Florida, and has been with me since then.
After three days the doctors had talked to me about unplugging. I left the hospital that afternoon and went to the hotel pool. Remembering that there was hardly any clientele there at this point, the pool was empty. Not a soul in sight. It was sorta overcast and balmy. I jumped in and tried to sink to the bottom. I floated for a while listening to that hum of my ear half in and half out of water. It started to rain, but I stayed in there, looking up at the overcast sky wondering what else there was in life for me and how long my father would want to have lived.
After the pool I went to the local Rite Aid and made a photo book for him, with photos that I'd brought from home. So he'd have pieces of me, as he left.
By the time I got back to the hospital that night, he had improved and they were taking him off life support, so he could live. Again, nothingness. My father had 9 lives. I kid you not. I extended my visit for about 4 more days to see what needed to be done.
While there in Miami, I met a man, Mr. E. One day I was on the beach and I began talking to Mr. E.. He'd been a NYC guy, who wrote some book, and moved to Miami because he'd gotten into some troubles of his own in NYC. It was July 4th and we walked along the beach while the fireworks bammed and South Beach went ballistic. If Karma is a thing, I know for certain how I treated this man is what I got back in recent times. I was clear in my communication with him. I was in a relationship....and was not really going to cheat. Not then anyway. He fell for me.
My father awoke at one point, and had no idea who or what he was. As the days went on, he popped into reality, and when he did that.....he would just sob and tell me how much he loved me and accepted me for who I was. The next minute, reality would go away and he would giggle, and with eyes crossed say he was born and raised in a chicken coop in the deep south (not a truth). It was so very strange.
Basically every time I went to see him and sit by him, I had goosebumps because I was so afraid. Who the hell was I? Alone with this man, who I'd spent so many years knowing, so many years struggling with my love for him, and my anger at him. I was terrified he would say something to me on his deathbed that would jar me even more...terrified he'd live, and terrified he would die.
He lived. That time.
With beeps and alerts from his hospital room going off, I tried to do some reasonable management with Mr. E. In the end, i stopped returning his calls, did not go see him while I was still there. I was in over my head and, in true coward fashion, I just walked away and got on my plane.
I think of him now because I've always pretended that I do the right thing, the respectful thing. Always. But he, this man in South Beach, he is but one of many. Many that I don't close the door with, that I just.......vanish.
And, well. My father. He just vanished too. In a different galaxy entirely, but sometimes the things we loose, the things we give away....they have a way of finding us again.
That week in July, I lost a lot. I did some other shade related things while there.. I found some things too. I found a darker side to myself as well as a driveway to redemption. I did my best with my father. He died in December 2011. I was called, again by the Dr. Lots of Lives, and I unplugged dad for good this time. This summer (2015) I have decided that I am going to spread his ashes in the Adirondack Mountains. He loved it there...fishing, drinking, getting lost in his battles. That was his battleground for a while and I feel content, finally knowing where he might want to be.
The most interesting part of this story is I look back on that time and think of myself as being such a naive young man. Life is so much more textured and measured now for me. I think after losing love for myself and giving it to someone who used it as a pomade for his attention seeking, I am much more grown up. That week, in Florida, I was an innocent.
I've always wondered what happened to that picture album I made for him went. Are my photos in a trash mountain somewhere? An even though his ashes sit next to my bed.....I very often wonder where he went. Shawn Joseph Ridgley. Where have you been mister? Where will you be next?
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