by J. Fritschi
And then he was surrounded by a hazy light that filled him with euphoria. Was this what it was like to die? Was there really an afterlife? Was he in Heaven? It felt like Heaven and suddenly he was at peace as he slipped into a coma and drifted off to a warm, peaceful place. He was at ease and he settled in for a deep, long state of oblivion.
chapter 31
AS THE BLUE and white taxi pulled up in front of his father’s home, the same home he grew up in, Father John peered out the back window at the Colonial-style, brick mansion with its columns, white trimmed windows and black shutters. Things appeared the same, but as he was about to find out, they were not.
Father John paid the cab driver and thanked him for the ride. As he got out of the cab and slung his knapsack over his shoulder, he stopped and gazed admiringly at the house. He had a lot of good memories from his childhood at this house and in the neighborhood; riding bikes, playing capture the flag, kick the can and football with his brothers. It didn’t seem like seventeen years had gone by since he graduated from Baylor University and left to travel the Himalayans in search of enlightenment. His belly welled with sentimental nostalgia.
As he walked up the brick steps to the front door, he realized he was anxious. He had not seen or talked to his father or brothers during his seventeen year pilgrimage. How could it have been so long? At first he wrote his father letters to keep everyone up to date on his travels and his search for understanding, but he would not allow anyone to visit him while he was living at the monasteries. He did not want his learning to be influenced by the outside world. His brothers thought he was crazy, but his father wrote back telling him how much he respected his commitment and determination. His dad encouraged him to continue down his path to enlightenment.
When he left the monastic life to live with Arianna, he wrote to his father to tell him that he found true love and that love was the closest feeling to enlightenment that man could experience. He was expecting his father to write a letter congratulating him, but instead he received a scathing response. His father did not understand how he could just abandon his life’s devotion to God and the search for enlightenment for the love of some woman whom he just met. His father told him how disappointed he was in his decision to leave the abbey and that he did not approve of Father John living with Arianna or their relationship at all for that matter. In the letter he stated that unless he went back to the church and his search for enlightenment, his dad was disavowing him and cutting him out of his will.
Father John couldn’t believe that his father would write such a chastising letter. Didn’t his dad know him better than to threaten to cut him off? He was a monk and was used to living off of the bare essentials. He didn’t need his father’s money. Didn’t his dad understand that he didn’t care about wealth or material items? If he wanted material wealth he could go out and earn it on his own and so that is what he did while he lived with Arianna, as much to show himself and Arianna that he could provide for them, but also to prove to his dad that he could gain wealth on his own and didn’t need or want his inheritance. He felt betrayed by his dad’s letter and after that, did not write him again.
Now, as he stood at his dad’s front door, he wasn’t sure whether to ring the door bell or try the handle and walk right in. What was his dad’s reaction going to be when he saw him? Would he be excited to see his youngest son after seventeen long years or would he stay true to his words and disavow him?
Father John hesitantly pushed on the doorbell and then shuffled around on the porch looking at the neighbors homes wondering who still lived in the neighborhood. After a minute he rang the doorbell again, wondering if his father was home. Maybe he went to the store? Could his dad still drive?
Maybe he was taking a nap and sleeping through the chime of the doorbell. He decided to check if the door was unlocked and reached for the handle and pushed tentatively on the lever. The handle clicked and to Father John’s surprise, the door slowly creaked open and he poked his head inside.
“Hello?” he called out. “Is there anyone home?”
He listened for a response and when there was none forthcoming, he stepped into the front hallway leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
The interior was decorated with the same English Country décor as when he was growing up. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling like a relic from the Titanic and the walls were painted a rose yellow. Ascending up the wall of the staircase were a series of black framed, antique paintings of English aristocrats in red coats and domed black riding helmets on horseback giving chase to a fox with their hounds.
As he wondered into the living room to the right, his eyes were immediately drawn to the brick fireplace and the family portrait above the mantle. He smiled as he remembered Christmas’s from years past. In front of the fireplace, a floral couch and two floral chairs faced each other with a mahogany coffee table separating them. A black Steinway piano jutted from the corner of the room and as he set his knapsack down on one of the chairs, he sauntered over and reminisced about standing around it singing as his father played Christmas classics. He gently caressed a few keys and quiet notes tickled his ears.
“What are you doing here?” an irritated voice asked startling him. Father John looked up and saw his brother James who had put on a few pounds, but still had the same dark hair, only now with sprinkles of grey in it.
Father John froze and stared at him. “I came home to see father,” he responded hesitantly.
“After seventeen years you think you can just show up and everything will be alright?”
“Is everything not alright?” Father John replied with a furrow of concern.
“Dad said you were coming home,” James said as he shook his head. “I didn’t believe him, but he told me that he wrote you a letter a few months back and received a response from Arianna stating that you left her to continue your search for enlightenment,” he paused looking at Father John with contempt. “I told him that didn’t mean you were coming home, but he was convinced.”
Father John smiled with appreciation. His father did know him. “Where is he now?” he asked calmly.
“He’s upstairs in bed,” James replied solemnly. “He’s dying you know.”
Father John’s heart filled with sinking sadness. Why did he wait so long to come home? “What’s the matter with him?”
“He has Cancer.”
Father John’s shoulders slumped as he cringed. “Where is everyone else?” he asked referring to his brothers. “Why aren’t they all here?”
James let out a sigh as he rubbed his hand down his face with anguish. “We all take turns coming over and helping the nurse except for Peter who lives in Oregon.”
“How is he?” Father John asked. “Is he conscious? Is he coherent?”
“He’s on life support. He’s waiting for you.”
All the blood drained from Father John’s head and his face tingled like it was covered with ants. After all this time, he finally came home and now he felt like a stranger in a strange place. He could feel the tension from his brother burning holes in him.
“Can I see him?” he asked politely.
James shrugged his shoulders. “He’s waiting for you.”
chapter 32
MIKE’S MOM WAS pacing the sterile hospital lobby in a daze, not knowing if her son would live or die. She was awoken in the middle of the night by the startling ring of her telephone and she knew immediately, with a dread she had been living with all of her life, that something was wrong with her son. Mrs. McCormick hesitated before answering the phone. In the back of her head she reasoned that if she did not pick it up and just went back to sleep, she would not have to face the bad news that was on the other side of the line. After several rings, she could no longer avoid her reality and hesitantly raised the receiver to her ear.
Big Pete tried to assure her that everything was going to be alright, but she could tell by the uncertain urgency in his voice that he didn’t really believe what he was sayi
ng.
She dressed in a panic and raced over to the hospital, alternately crying, cursing and praying for her son’s life.
When she arrived at the hospital lobby, Mike was already in surgery. Big Pete calmly explained, with wide eyes, that they were performing brain surgery for trauma caused from Mike being struck in the head with a blunt object. That was all they knew, so she paced the lobby helplessly waiting for the news of her son’s condition, praying for the best, but readying herself for the worst.
At around 4:30 am, the neurosurgeon dressed in his scrubs came out to the lobby with a look of concern.
Big Pete rose to his feet with his arm around Mrs. McCormick. Upon recognizing Big Pete, the doctor approached them slowly as he removed his cap and mask. He was a tan, young man with cropped, dark hair and black intense eyes who looked like the bearer of bad news.
“How is he doctor?” Big Pete asked softly.
“I wish we could tell with all certainty, but we just don’t know,” the doctor replied. “He is in critical condition and the next 48 hours are crucial for his survival.”
Mike’s mom’s legs went weak and as big Pete held her up, she fought back tears that were welling deep inside like a rising tide.
“You must be his mother.” The doctor acknowledged remorsefully.
Mrs. McCormick nodded her head slowly as her ashen face strained with sorrow and tears ran down her pale cheeks.
“I truly am sorry.” The doctor continued patiently. “The blows to his head caused bruising and swelling and tearing of the brain tissue, which can lead to secondary damage if the brain doesn’t get enough blood and oxygen. We’re draining the fluid from his head to relieve the pressure, but we won’t know anything for a couple of days,” the doctor paused and looked Mrs. McCormick in the eyes. “I’ll be straight with you. His eyes are still dilated and his respiration is labored due to his elevated blood pressure, coupled with a slowing pulse, which is why we have him hooked up to life support. These are not positive signs. We’re doing all we can to get him stabilized, but the longer he is in a coma, the worse his prognosis becomes.”
“What can I do?” Mike’s mom asked with a cracking voice.
“Not much, I’m afraid. We’re doing all we can do to save him. I think the only thing you can do is pray for him and talk to him.”
“Can I go see him?”
“Of course, but I have to warn you that it is going to be very hard for you to see him in this condition.”
chapter 33
MIKE’S MOM TOOK a deep breath and closed her eyes as she clicked open the pale mechanical door to Mike’s hospital room and slowly pushed it open. She was not prepared for the heart aching shock that engulfed her when she heard the monitor beeping and the long, heavy sucking and exhaling of the ventilator. Her body shuddered as she hesitantly opened her eyes.
Lying on the bed, across the shadowy room, hooked up to tubes and monitors and an IV bag, was her only son; her baby. Her chin began to quiver and uncontrollably spread to her lips and cheeks until her entire face was vibrating. She gasped as she held her hand gently to her lips and whimpered.
She approached the bed holding out hope that it was not her little boy lying there dying. At first, through her blurry glare, she did not recognize his face with the white bandage wrapped around his head and the tubes taped to his nose and mouth. It didn’t look like her son and for a brief moment she thought there must have been some terrible mistake. Quietly she moved closer to the body tucked under the covers. Maybe it wasn’t him? Then she saw the familiar dimple in his chin and the little hope she had was replaced by a sinking empathy in the bottom of her stomach. She began to sob softly as she reached out and touched his rigid hand carefully above where a tube was inserted into a vein.
This was her baby; her only child. He meant the world to her. In the back of her mind, she always knew that this could happen to him. Mike was a daredevil as a kid and a risk taker as a young man, with no regard for the consequence of his actions. But even after all the visits to the hospital for broken bones, concussions and stitches, she never imagined herself weeping at his deathbed.
Mike was always a challenging, if not difficult child, even in labor. He was a breech baby and took hours to deliver after the doctor finally got him turned around. After he was safely delivered and she held him in her arms, she told herself that he was special and worth the pain. It was a common theme that would be repeated throughout her life; all the sleepless nights she spent worrying about him when he didn’t come home or so much as call to tell her where he was. It was the not knowing if he was alright that was the hardest on her. When he would show up the next day she would always thank God and would be so happy that he was home safe that she would forgive the anguish he caused her the night before. She told herself that she had to accept him the way he was. There was nothing she or her husband could do to change him.
They tried everything from restricting him to home, to taking his car away and Mike would behave for a while, but there was something inherently mischievous in him and he would soon be at his old ways again.
He was a selfish, self absorbed boy, who, when she would ask the next day why he didn’t call to tell them where he was, would simply say that he got carried away and forgot himself and that was the thing she worried about the most.
As she knelt next to his bed with her head resting on her hands that clutched his stiff hand, she began to sob inconsolably.
Why did it have to be like this? Hadn’t he been through enough hardship or was this just the culmination of cheating death one too many times? How could God do this to her again? What did she do to deserve all of this pain and suffering? First her husband, the love of her life, her soul mate, committed suicide leaving her old and alone in what were supposed to be their glory years. And now her son, the only living person she truly loved, was going to be taken away from her as well? It was too much for her to take. There would be no point in living if Mike was gone.
Mrs. McCormick pulled a wood chair over to Mike’s bed side and sat down. At first she was uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say. And then she reached for his hand and began to talk.
“Hi sweetheart. It’s your Mother,” she said feeling strangely uncomfortable. “I hope you can hear me baby,” she said with a tremor in her voice as she gently rubbed his hand. “I don’t want you to leave me. I need you here. I can’t live without you and you have too much to live for. Don’t leave me like your father did. I carry enough guilt from him taking his life. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about what I could have done that would have prevented your father from killing himself. I should have been more supportive,” she said reflectively shaking her head. “I didn’t even know he was depressed. How could I have been so self absorbed not to have seen that?” She wondered out loud with eyes of astonishment. “I wasn’t there for him when he needed me the most. It’s my fault. I could have prevented it if I had only been there for him,” she took a deep breath and exhaled, sitting up straight in her chair. “I won’t make that mistake again. I am here for you baby and I’m not going anywhere until you come back to me,” she paused and rubbed her hand on his face. “I love you so much. I need you to come home.”
And then all at once a flood of memories that she had not recalled in she didn’t know how long, filled her mind like an overflowing glass of milk, spilling out as she fondly shared them with Mike’s comatose body with a smile of comfort. The more stories she told him, the more her heart filled with melancholy.
She explained to him that he wasn’t always a bad child. In fact, in all of her early memories, he was a very pleasant and friendly child. It wasn’t until he went to school that the trouble began and even then he maintained a pleasing disposition, but for whatever reason, he seemed to gravitate towards trouble.
The more memories and stories she spoke in the quiet whispers of Mike’s hollow hospital room, the more she realized with relief and joy in heart that most of them were very happy one
s. The traumatic and trying times were few and far between and as she looked back on them, she realized in the grand scheme of the events that defined his life, they were insignificant. All of the things he did throughout his life, not just the bad or just the good, defined who he was as a person. If he was always a good, well behaved child, he would’ve lived a boring life and if he was nothing but a difficult, unpleasant child, she would not have the love she felt for him glowing in her heart.
No; quite to the contrary. She realized he lived a full, exciting life and that there were too many memories yet to be made in the years to come. She was emboldened by this realization and was determined not to allow her last memory of her only son to be that of him dying in a hospital bed.
“Please come back home to your mother Mike,” she pleaded with him as if she was talking about someone else. “She needs you so bad. She wants to see you get married and watch her grandchildren grow up to be fine adults like yourself. Don’t leave her by herself. She loves you too much.”
chapter 34
FATHER JOHN TRUDGED up the stairs towards his father’s room wondering how close to death he really was. Did his dad have something that he was waiting to tell him and after he told him, would he then feel at peace and die? What was it that he wanted to tell him? Did he forgive Father John for walking away from his search for illumination and for falling in love with Arianna or was he going to disavow him?
Father John got to the top of the staircase, turned down the narrow hallway and stared at the closed door at the end of it. What did his father say in the letter he wrote to him that Arianna responded to? What was so important that he broke his silence?