In moments

despite its tone this short story is hopeful. It is my wish that I could speak eloquently to those who suffer loss and to tell them they are never alone, we suffer with them. In all the moments...

                                                                                                 In moments 

                                                                                                  (A eulogy)

                                                                                                        By

                                                                                        Carlos Lorenzo Estrada 

"And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." Khalil Gibran from The Prophet

     

     I could see the September rain stain the glass window as it spider webbed downward in mosaic design.  Its scent a light musk, which mixed with the seasalt of the ocean a mile away.  The hospice room was quaint and formal with the bed and its metal rails occupying a small space in the corner of the room.  The  moment was visceral and weighted in sorrow.  Death clung to this place with all its antiseptic devices and impersonal bland colored walls.  There were no singing of Angels, or a tabernacle choir.  Only the sound of a ticking clock, which echoed along with the heart monitor.

     

     "It's ok, dad, you can go." I said, more like a prayer to comfort myself then anything.  It was a selfish lie, something we say in hopes to heal our own angst.  I was sorry for saying it.  Time was measured in single breaths.  They separated sporadically from seconds, to minutes, labored in their heavy struggle.  How we cling to life as our moment nears.  I held his hand not letting it go and could feel the warmth of that spark we all carry within slowly fading to cold.  Occasionally I would rub his arm in hopes to keep it from extinguishing in a futile attempt to prolong the inevitable.  It was a selfish and pessimistic act.  For as sons we refuse to see our heroes in human frailty. It is shameful. There is no more an ignoble death then the dying in pieces, or so we are told by our fathers.  There are no such truths in death for it is indifferent to our demise.  It doesn't wait for you to dress up, or put on your make-up, to serve our vanities.  It simply waits in the moments that are uncontrollable to us.

     

     Billions of particles define our creation.  Unseen by our mortal eye.  We are universes, upon universes, upon universes.  Deep within a cellular level exists the energy that first created all things.  It gave birth to time and space and still lives within us.  We are the embers of the first light.  Forever expanding in incremental knowledge, and evolving like the universe we are born into.  There are no illusions to our finite existence.  As beings of energy we simply fade into the ether.  But where do our memories go?  Our dreams, hopes, aspirations?  The self defining qualities that embody the individual psyche.  If we truly are simply the culmination of energy then is our spark visible?

     

     I could feel the last fleeting warmth of his spark tunnel in and pooling within the palm of the hand I held.  I tried with all my might to keep it burning.  I breathed when he breathed, and held breath when he would stop.  20 seconds, 40 seconds, 60 seconds, over a minute.  I did not f*****g breathe.  I could feel my lungs burn and begged it to stop.  Then.  For the first time in my life I breathed into a world without my father. 

     

     "It's ok..." I said to him, "I'll be ok.  You can go...I'll be ok."

     

     And as the moments began to fade I felt something.  Profoundly life altering.  An affirmation.  There was a warmth that passed through my hand...like a spark.  Slowly rising upwards like a fading summer breeze. I smiled and it was gone.  I stood and walked to the window and could hear the chirp of a bird, as the rain stopped.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

I am profoundly moved at how your father's last moments resonated with my own experiences. Your style of writing is refreshingly deep, it touches the core Carlos. I missed my own father's death by half an hour, arriving at the hospital to see him peaceful in his bed. His hands still warm, and as I leaned over to kiss him on his forehead five times, one for myself and my four siblings, my tears spilled on his cheek. When I stood back it looked as though it was my father crying. I saw him at his most vulnerable and that cut me like a knife. I knew at that moment that life had changed for me completely. Thank you for allowing me to share something on your page that I rarely talk about.

Chris

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

thank you so very much, Chris, for sharing that touching and very heartbreaking moment with me. As a human being I empathize and have come to understand how dramatically life changing these seconds of life come to be defined in our hearts. As writers it is a struggle to give theses small moments life so that our audience can visually see the evocative portraits we paint in words. Words are our colors and the way we choose to draw these images in the hearts of others. There is a solace and catharsis we find in revealing these aspects of self. A piece of us is always in every story we write. Most shroud it in mystery while others are willing to reveal their wounds. So that others may learn from them, and see their own reflection in the portraits we paint. Thank you again for sharing your moments.

[Chris Shaw]

And thank you for your empathy Carlos. Those moments are all defining.

[mattavelli]

Hello, Carlos! :)
This is an interesting story. You packed a lot into it. Thanks for sharing.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

it's one of my more biographical and intimate pieces. We write what we know. After the last moment of this event I stopped writing for over 15 yrs. The writing block was too strong and I just felt there was no possible way to fully capture this moment in life properly in words. There still isn't. Death is indescribable to the living. We are not meant to know. Thank you for your thoughts.

[NotUsinganymore]

Interesting writing! I enjoyed it!

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you, Jung, I appreciate the time you spent reading this story, as well as leaving this kind comment. The true joy I get from writing is, and will always be, the enjoyment and thoughts of what my peers and fellow writers such as yourself share with me after reading a story I submit for them to review. So thank you for the kind words.

[NotUsinganymore]

You are welcome. I do not mind.

[Rania M]

Quite a cosmic experience reading this tonight. There's so much happening inside of us when a loved one leaves. Most of it just the way you write it here. Thank you for this story.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you for your thoughts and taking time to read this short story. You are so correct about our minds and the thoughts that occupy them during such events. It's a wonder why we are left so emotionally drained afterwards. It can leave us manic, or in a state of enlightenment, or perhaps a little of both. Questioning our thoughts, existence, and the very nature of humanity within this universe. In the end we are left with far more questions then answers by this journey. And yet a step closer to a spiritual truth. Thank you once more for spending a moment to read and share a conversation.

[AJNJ]

Stopped reading here much lately. Yet this was a great read. My compliments on this unforgettable story. It will stay with me. Kudos.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

thank you so much for your kind words. And taking the time to read and share your thoughts with me. Having to relive this moment and attempt to capture it in words was difficult. But the kindness that many have expressed to me really has made this effort cathartic and brought a semblance of peace that I needed after completing this. Thank you so very much.

[Miss Marlette]

I related closely to this story being beside my own dad's deathbed. Well narrated and worded and appreciated all the better as knucklehead attempts at writing abound on writerscafe.org giving me frequent headaches.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you for your kind review. You and I share that common bond. Not only of loss but simply being there in the moment for them. Letting go and saying goodbye is never an easy thing when it comes to love and its many facets. My English lit teacher once said that the best way to tell a story is to make your audience feel it and allow their senses to be absorbed by it. It makes the event relatable, and in doing so they recognize a piece of their own humanity in that moment. I will not lie to you sometimes I can over indulge in descriptive writing to the point of parody, which my teacher would chide me by saying keep it simple stupid not everyone wants to read Homer. I struggle to find that perfect balance, but when I get a kind review like yours it makes my writing journey worth those difficult struggles. So thank you very much for stopping by and sharing a bit of your story with me.

[Miss Marlette]

I appreciate your story and spirit both. Welcome.

[Marina]

A very poignant eulogy, Carlos. You have captured the scene and the final moments with generous poise and clarity of expression. I have yet to experience this intensely personal level of loss, but one must always steel themselves for the inevitable, for such a day shall come. Your final lines do indeed give your readers a sense of hope amidst the loss. The chirping of that bird heralds the passing into a greater realm of existence. This is real writing to me and much more desirable to the intelligent reader. Fine work, Carlos.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you so very much for taking the time to read and review this story, Marina. "In moments" holds very significant themes reflecting the human condition none more important then time itself. And how fleeting and limited its grace defines our individual lives. In the blink of an eye we go from birth to end. And the accumulated memories that encompasses the totality of a single life, all that we will ever be, fades from time. But in the sharing of these moments, and the vast knowledge they yield, we assure our immortality. And that to me is my gift of my father's memory that I share with you.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

I read this it’s so incredibly touching sad but you also do seem to have an incredible very deep spiritual understanding of dying and energy and our soul and the universe and life which gave way to a calm gentle acceptance and understanding in it all
I’m sorry for your loss as well
Losing ones parents is so hard
I praise you for this spectacular piece !
Well done I say

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you for the kind words, Julie. I want to believe that there is profound knowledge and wisdom gained in the pain we suffer as human beings. That our tears and wounds inflicted by trauma bear meaningful reminders of the loss that define them. These single moments of love, joy, passion, and loss contribute to our evolution into being better people. And attaining our better Angels. Thank you for your comment

[Dave Brown]

I was almost there at that last moment
We had to leave for a moment and in that moment he drifted away
I always felt guilty about that because he and I had already had a bit of a difficult relationship and here, I couldn't even be there for him at the very last minute
He was actually a thoughtful person and perhaps he decided to save us the angst of being there at the precise moment
Your story brought back many memories

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you, Dave, for sharing your experience. I had a very difficult relationship with my father. He was an abusive man, as well as an alcoholic. He often beat on my mother, as well as me. He was haunted by so many demons. In his mid 30s it was discovered he had a brain tumor and two tears later after a severe seizure he had a massive stroke. This man who had been a hard worker all his life, eventually working his way into a supervisor position at a winery, lost everything in life at a young age. He was crippled unable to move the right side of his body and speak. No one in the family wanted to care for him because he was difficult. There were discussions about placing him into a home. Instead I took are of him, not out of pity but responsibility. Despite his failures and faults he was still my father. I owed that respect to him. There are so many unsaid things about this situation that has not been revealed, nor spoken of in years. But those things change very little and do not dissuade the debt owed to the man. He passed on holding the hand of a son he abused and who forgave him, so many years ago. The cure for Hatred will always be love, and it's in forgiveness that wounds can begin to heal into gentle scars. The kind we can live with and find solace in as well. Thank you again for your kind words and time you took to read this story.

[Samuel Dickens]

This is brilliant, sad, wonderful, inspiring, and so very real. You nearly mimicked my own thoughts when at my father's death bed. I walked outside shortly after his last breath and gazed up at the night sky, saying to myself, "When the sun rises in a few hours, it will be the first time in 91 years that it doesn't shine upon my father." I have written on this subject, too, but not as eloquently as you.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you so much for your kind words, Samuel. Such moments as these are universal and reflects our commonality as a species. We are moved by art because we see a portion of ourselves within it. Whether song, poem, story, or portrait they speak of our essence of shared humanity and community. One of my shameful regrets is that I didn't have the bravery within myself to say these words at my father's wake. I was too angry, vindictive. I felt my family did not deserve to know this truth. Because instead of coming together during this moment they argued amongst themselves for scrapes of pennies left behind. Inheritance and incivility was worth more then family and common decency. So like a castaway alone on an island I put this in a bottle of memories to save for a day their meaning and value would find some audience willing to listen. And be part of that moment. Your words you shared about your father's death profoundly touched me. As sons our grief is shared, and as storytellers we come to recognize our most human of moments are universal indeed. Thank you.