Ben's nerves pulsated all over his body as he ran through each scenario in his mind. He walked down the long pale hospital hallways trying to remember the security guards' directions.
The yellow line to blue, to green, then the elevator, he repeated to himself, shoes squeaking on the polished floor. Walking through the hospital's bowels, he contemplated the same two questions. What do you say to a father that you never knew, and how do you say it standing next to his deathbed?
His shallow breaths quickened as the elevator carried him up. An unrelenting knot squeezed in his chest as he passed through the hospice doors and walked to the nurse's station.
"Who're you here to see?" The nurse asked with a smile, not quite looking up from his hands on the keyboard.
"Carlton Hughes."
Ben counted the number of taps on the keyboard as he waited.
"Your name and relation?"
"Benjamin Jerrell. J-E-R-R-E-L-L. I'm his…ah…son."
"OK, got it in the system," he said, gesturing toward the monitor and rising. "Your sisters are in there right now."
The muscles in Ben's shoulders tightened, and he cursed to himself as the sensation traveled to his neck. He wanted to avoid other people—why else would he come so late?
Following the nurse down the hall, now he wondered what he should say to his half-sisters. What could he say? These were half-sisters that he had never met. Last he heard, the youngest didn't even know that he existed. She didn't know that she had a half-brother. That her father cheated on her mother. That he got their young babysitter pregnant.
Praying. Begging God that someone had told her the secret over the years, Ben stepped through the door to his father's room.
One woman about his age sat in a recliner near the cracked open window. Ben could see her long brown hair waving with the slight breeze. She wore a powder blue sweatsuit and bright white tennis shoes. Sleep deprivation radiated from her face. He could see his father in her features. Deeper still, he could see a bit of himself. This had to be her. It had to be Jackie.
She looked at him with a weary smile.
Near the foot end of the bed, he saw the other sister with super tight graying curls above a pinched and drawn face. She must take after her mom, Ben thought.
Their father lay there, almost unrecognizable from the old pictures. Pictures of his father striking a heroic pose on a horse. Scenes from his time in the military and at his oldest daughter's wedding. Always smiling and posing in what seemed to be a happy life. A life that never really included Ben.
Turning back to the two sisters, he looked at his feet and said, "Hi, I'm Ben. I don't know if you know—"
"I know who you are," the older sister said, looking back and forth between Jackie and him like she was watching an intense tennis match.
Jackie smiled again and softly asked, "How do you know ou—?"
"I'm Charlotte," the older sister said in an agitated tone as she walked to Jackie and grabbed her hand. "Jack, let's let him visit for a little while. We need to talk."
"I'm sorry for interrupt—"
"No problem," Charlotte said as she dragged Jackie out of the room.
Somewhat cordial…But did I detect bitterness or just awkwardness? He wondered.
Looking at his father in the bed, he tried to empty his mind temporarily of everything else. He knew that his father had been on dialysis for some years, but that was the extent of it. He didn't really know the specifics of what had him in this state, but he could see the tube inserted into his trachea. His lips were chapped, and his closed eyelids were so thin they seemed transparent.
What do I do now? Ben thought. Do I say something? Is he asleep or in a coma?
Ben stood silent, looking at his father. Looking for a sign of life. There was no movement, and he couldn't hear anything except the whirring sound of medical equipment.
He began to speak in a whisper, "I want you to know—"
"Carl, wake up! Someone is here to visit you!" A new nurse announced, startling Ben as she entered the room.
"Is he sleeping?" Ben asked.
"Yes. Sometimes he's very alert, and other times he can't stay awake," She said. "It's the morphine." She walked up to Carl and rubbed his cheek with one hand, and moistened his lips with a damp sponge in the other.
"Sweetheart, your son Ben is here to see you. Can you wake up for us?" She said into his ear with a hushed tone.
Ben watched his father's eyelids lift like a pair of heavy weights and his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
"Carl, your son Ben is here to see you, isn't that nice?" the nurse said, waving her open palm toward Ben.
Ben forced a smile and waved his hand. His father moved his head, trying to nod, and raised his hand a fraction of an inch off the bed.
Ben watched as his father's eyes closed and opened, fighting a losing battle against sleep.
"It looks like you caught him during a sleepy stage," the nurse said, tucking Carl's blanket around him and adjusting his pillow.
"That's OK. I'm just glad I was able to visit," Ben said. "Can I ask a dumb question?"
"There are no dumb questions, especially on this ward," she said.
"What's going on with that tube going into his throat?"
"That is a tracheostomy tube. It's connected to the ventilator to help him breathe."
Ben soaked in the information and said, "This may sound stra—"
"Remember what I said," she replied, shaking her finger and smiling.
"OK. What's wrong with him? Can you tell me why he's sick? Why is he…?"
"He's been on dialysis for years, and he's had many other health problems. But the real problem right now is, like his kidneys, other organs are starting to shut down."
When the nurse left the room, Ben didn't know what to say or do next, so he decided to go. Walking down the hallway, he heard sniffles coming from the lobby. Jackie sat near the window on a chair's arm with her head buried into Charlotte's chest. Her body was heaving up and down as she whimpered. Charlotte looked at Ben and patted her head a few times.
"Jackie, I know it's a shoc—"
"How? Why? Why can't I just say goodbye to Daddy in peace?" Jackie yelled.
Charlotte continued to nuzzle her as the sobbing increased.
Ben headed past the reception desk and out the door, thinking that it would be better to remove himself.
The elevator door opened, and Ben jumped in, hoping to escape the entire situation, but when he turned around, Charlotte startled him, stepping into the doorway, preventing it from closing.
"Look, you can see that he doesn't have much time left."
"I'm really sorry," Ben said, and he reached for the open door button. "I'm so sorry for everything that your family is going through."
"Thanks," she said, looking down and then back up. "You should know that we aren't bad people…We mostly just have a problem with your mother. Especially our brother Joey."
Ben had no idea what she meant. He assumed that they didn't like his mother because she was "the other woman."
If you could call a 19-year-old babysitter, 'the other woman,' Ben thought.
"OK, well, I've never thought badly about any of you. I only wish all of you the best," Ben said.
He felt a bit of shame over the white lie. Well, I mean, I never hated any of them, he thought.
The elevator doors started beeping, and ignoring his depressed finger on the button. Charlotte was undeterred by the door, continually bumping into her small frame.
She took a deep breath and said, "We might pull the plug soon. You can come back for one more if you schedule it first."
"OK," he said.
"You're welcome to the funeral, but under no circumstances should your mother show up."
Ben knew that his mom was a troubled young woman back then, homeless and struggling with her mental health. But Charlotte was talking about her like she were some kind of monster. Rage started to simmer in the back of Ben's mind, and it began to bubble into the front.
"I'm not even sure—"
"Also, please don't come to the reception. You can see that it's just too hard for us."
Ben held back what he really wanted to say, what he wanted to scream at her. Instead, he pulled his finger back from the button, leaving her to fend off the doors for herself.
She stepped out of the path this time, and they closed with a welcome clank.
Ben walked out the front door of the hospital, stung by the freezing night air. He called his mother on the dark walk across the parking lot to his car.
"How did it go, Honey?" His mom asked.
"You were right," Ben said as he used a credit card to scrape away the unexpected layer of ice from his windshield.
"He looks terrible. Tube in his neck. He can't stay awake…I don't think he’ll be here much longer."
"That's what your uncle told me. Thank God he found my number and let us know," she said.
"Jackie and Charlotte were there."
"Really? What happened? Did Jackie know about you?"
"They were nice enough for a second. Charlotte dragged her out and apparently told her. So I guess she still didn't know."
"What happened?"
"You mean aside from me walking through the lobby and seeing her sobbing?"
"I'm so sorry, Honey. It's not easy, but you would've regretted it if you didn't go."
"Charlotte. I need to talk to you later about her."
"Why, what did she say?"
"Never mind, we can talk more tomorrow. I just want to get back home," Ben said as his door creaked open, and he sat on the cold seat.
"Alright, Honey. Well, drive safe. The roads are slippery."
Turning the key in the ignition, Ben sat in the car, watching his breath condense to fog as the wipers threw off loose ice fragments. He couldn't remember his mom ever saying a crossword about his father. Growing up, she'd only repeat that he never missed a child support payment and always sent birthday and Christmas gifts. Ben always suspected that her rosy outlook was more for his benefit than to credit his father.
No longer seeing his breath, he shifted into drive and scrolled through his playlist, tapping on the old Ray Price song. His mom loved it because his father sang it to her back then.
"Don't look so sad. I know it's over. But life goes on, and this old world will keep on turning…"
His eyes filled with tears without warning, and he began sobbing, thundering out decades of emotion. His body was wracked with sobs, and he had to shift back into park.
"What's going on?" He shouted.
He grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. Putting the car back in drive. He noticed that the song had already made it to the chorus, the only words of the song that his mother ever sang.
"Lay your head upon my pillow. Hold your warm and tender body close to mine."
"My God, this is such a sad song! It's a total break-up song!" He said.
The singer is in a doomed relationship begging to focus on "the good times." He often wondered why his mom treated the song as a precious family heirloom. Ben never had the heart to point out the real meaning. Considering the circumstances, he never told her how the chorus sounded quite creepy.
Warm rays of light pierced through the blinds, reaching Ben's face. His preset coffeemaker was already percolating in the kitchen, sending the aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the air. Everything conspired, attacking his senses and nudging him into wakefulness.
He opened his eyes, saw an old box before him, and realized that he had fallen asleep on the couch. When he got home from the hospital, he had pulled down the box of dusty old photos, letters, and other keepsakes. Ben twisted his fists against both eyes, grabbed a few of the old letters from his dad, and walked to the kitchen.
The letters were all penned on lined paper torn from a spiral notebook with all the jagged pieces on one side. He had to use all of his powers of perception to translate the cursive scrawled across the page.
Ben often joked that he hadn't just inherited his father's looks but also his penmanship.
"He does it with his right hand, and now I'm carrying on the tradition with my left," Ben would say to his mom.
He poured some coffee, sat at the breakfast bar, and swirled in cream as he unfolded one of the letters. Over the years, his dad used the same formula. An update on family or business matters, something about his horses, a response to something Ben wrote, and some inevitable expression of guilt.
Just as he prepared to read a letter, his phone rang beside him.
"Hel…hello?"
"Ben?"
"Yes."
"This is your uncle Charlie, Carlton's brother." He said with a clear accent from the sticks up north.
"Hi. Thanks for letting us know about my Dad's condo—."
Uncle Charlie continued with the rat-a-tat-tat pace of a Tommy gun.
"Yup. Look, this is a hard way to talk to you for the first time—"
"It's OK."
"Well, I wanted to let you know that your dad's wife and kids decided they're gonna pull the plug tomorrow.”
“Oh…I’m sorry."
"Yeah, it's a toughie. But look, if you want to see him one more time, you should go there today at 4."
"Sure, I can do tha—"
"I don't know what's wrong with them, but they don't want to be there during your visit. They also keep insisting that your mom not come to the funeral."
"Yeah, Charlotte kinda made that clear last night."
"I don't get it, my boy, but you go say your final goodbyes."
"Thank yo—"
"Don't you mention it. Bye."
Uncle Charlie hung up, and Ben felt overwhelmed by the whirlwind conversation. He assumed that he had already had his last visit with his father, but now he had to prepare himself all over again. And this time, it felt way more complicated after the interaction with his half-sisters.
Ben looked in his closet, wondering what to wear to the hospital. He rushed for the last visit, but now he had at least some notice.
"Great, one more thing to stress about," he said, slipping his hands into the hanging fabric.
"Something dark? But it's not a funeral…Yet."
The more he looked for the perfect shirt, the longer it took to find it. The actions of his siblings monopolized his mind and soured his mood. He didn't have the capacity to think about clothes.
"What the hell is wrong with these people, anyway?” Ben said. "Poor delicate little flowers. Can't they bear to see my mom after all these years? Can't they even take having me around? Or what? They'll have a breakdown?"
His face reddened as his voice bounced back out of the closet at him.
"I'm the one that grew up without a father!"
Ben sat on the bed, shook his head, and tried to regain control.
They've had our father their whole lives. But, including last night, I can count on one hand how many times I've even been in his presence.
Ben's phone began to ring again. Already drained, he looked down and saw "Mom."
"Hello?"
"Honey, so how are you doing?"
"Charlie just called, They're pulling the plug tomorrow, so I'm going there at 4."
"Are you OK?"
Ben stood back up and started pacing around the room. He had something to say. He had some things to ask his mom, but he didn't really know how.
"They don't want to be there when I visit. Apparently, it's just too painful for them. Poor little things," Ben said. "They're soooo generous, allowing me to come to the funeral, but they forbid me from coming to the reception!"
"That is rotten! I shoul—"
"No. Don't! Don't do anything, Mom. They don't want me there. I'm not going."
"OK, but it's just not right," her voice cracked.
"I know, but let them live with that. This is about my dad and me. I'll go see him one last time today. I'll say goodbye, I'll go to his funeral, and then I'm done…" He whispered.
"OK. Well, I'll let you get rea—"
"One more thing Mom."
"Yeah?"
"Last night, Charlotte really came on strong against you showing up anywhere. I mean, so over-the-top."
"Really?'
"Yeah. I get that the whole thing is touchy, but why such hostility?"
Ben's mother paused for an unusually long period. He could hear breathing that usually precipitated tears.
"Mom? So what is all this about? Do you know?"
"Honey, I never told you this. I don't think I've ever told anyone."
Ben lowered himself back down onto his bed, bracing himself on the nightstand.
What in the hell is she about to say? He thought.
"You know I was a distraught young girl. Abuse. Homeless. And your Dad and Vivian…" Her voice started to break. "They took me into their home. Made me a live-in babysitter and housekeeper…Felt like a family."
Ben's facial muscles tightened in scores of little painful knots.
"When I got pregnant, it turned everything upside down. Your Dad and Vivian got in their share of fights before, but it got so much worse…." She stopped again to catch her breath.
"Just relax, Mom. Take your time," Ben said.
"It ended the way I knew it would. Vivian told me to get out. Your Dad told her that they couldn't just dump me on the streets in my condition. Vivian said she didn't care. Maybe it would be good if I…if I lost the baby." She said it in such a hushed voice that Ben strained to hear.
"I understand why she was mad, Mom, but wh—"
"I'm not finished."
Ben braced himself again for whatever might come at him next.
"So I finally felt like I had a family—a home. Now I might lose everything. And I mean everything." She said between quickened breaths.
"I went crazy, son. I just went crazy for a few minutes. I turned into some kind of animal and started yelling and screaming. I threatened the lives of their kids."
"What! Mo—"
"I loved those kids. But I threatened them…." Ben's mother now gasping for air.
"Mom. Is that it?" Ben asked.
"I…I pulled a knife from the kitchen and held it up to Joey." She said through sobs.
"Jesus Christ, Mom!" Ben yelled in disbelief.
He knew about his mom's troubled past. He knew about the homelessness, abuse, and struggles with mental illness. But in his entire life, he had never seen her act in any violent or abusive way. She had been a loving mother and a kind person to everyone. She overcame her past; over the years, she even found regular work as a nanny and housekeeper. So many of the kids that she helped raise over the years still loved her like a second mother.
Who is this person she's describing? He thought.
"Did they call the police? Did you go in-patient? What happened?" Ben asked.
"No…They… Didn't want to broadcast it." She whispered between sobs. "It was a different time."
"Your father got me to put the knife down. The kids were screaming. Terrified. I was terrified…Guilty. And your dad had no choice but to pack me up and take me away."
Ben heard his mom's uncontrolled sobbing, and it moved him with compassion for her, even after hearing such a horrific story.
"Mom. Calm down…Breathe…. Now I understand." He said.
"I know. I know. I told myself that they were young. Maybe they got pas—"
"Well, they clearly didn't." He said.
"But Mom… You've been in this world for almost seven decades. Those were minutes. Terrible minutes, yes. But minutes from an entire lifetime."
"Thank you, Honey. I know… I know I've done at least one…good thi—"
"More than one, Mom. A lot more." He said.
Walking through the lobby, a buzz of activity passed back and forth all around him. A pregnant woman walked past him as he stood in the center of the room. No one seemed to be waiting for her, and he wondered if she was there all alone. It looks like it's just her and the baby, he thought.
A line of visitors was forming behind the reception desk; he bypassed the line trying to recall the color-coded trail he had followed last night.
"Yellow. Blue. Green. Elevator," he whispered.
The same nurse sat at the station when he arrived at the hospice wing.
"Hello," Ben said, sucking in his lips as if he were trying to prevent his nerves from escaping.
"I'm here to vi—"
"Oh, I remember. It's not been that long ago," the nurse said with a chuckle.
"Let's get you checked in, and I'll take you back."
Ben hunched over the counter while the nurse tapped the keyboard.
The nurse rose from the squeaky chair and motioned for Ben to follow him.
"Your father's nurse is the only one in there right now."
When Ben entered the room, a wall of light pouring through the window hit him in the face. As his eyes adjusted, he saw his father sitting up with his eyes fully open. His nurse hunched over him and turned her head.
"Oh, look, Carl! Your son's back to visit!"
Ben watched as she turned back and started working with the ventilator tube.
"Now, Carl, first, I have to clear this fluid out. It will only take a second or two."
Her body partially blocked his view, but Ben could hear her working, and, worse, he could see his father almost gasping. His father's eyes widened, and his entire body tensed. Ben felt faint like he couldn't catch his own breath.
"OK. It's all done. Sorry, I know it's tough," She said as she stroked his shoulder.
"But now, you can enjoy your visit with your son!"
Carl gave a vigorous nod.
Ben thought about how weak his father looked just last night. It didn't surprise him when he got the news that the family was taking him off the ventilator.
But now, he seems fully alert and engaged.
The nurse walked out, flashing a kind smile at Ben. He almost wanted her to stay in the room. He felt such an awkwardness hanging over the place and thought that her presence could hold it at bay.
Carl looked up at the muted football game on the TV, and Ben could tell his father felt the same thing. The few times they met, it always started with these uncomfortable moments. Now the same dynamic felt magnified beyond calculation. Ben stood frozen in the same spot of the room since he entered it. He couldn't have been further from his father without leaving.
"Still a big sports fan?" Ben said, trying to break through.
Carl nodded, smiled, and looked back at the TV.
"I should give you some…Uhmm…Updates. Since my letter last year."
Ben's voice seemed to give Carl permission to look at him a little longer.
Ben delivered every mundane update that he could pull out of his mind. He could sense that his talking somehow pulled their connection through the decades and the awkwardness.
When Ben ran out of things to say, he noticed that neither had looked away in several minutes. He felt like they were trying to communicate so many words that had still gone unspoken. Instinct moved him close to his father's bedside in an unplanned moment. Putting his hand on Carl's shoulder, perhaps touching him for the very first time, he started speaking from his heart.
"I want you to know that my mom has never said a bad thing about you. Ever. And I've only wished the best for you and your family."
Carl blinked, gazed softly at his son, and all tension left his face.
Ben bent toward his father, leaning in with his eyes just inches from his father's.
"I want you to know that I'm OK. We're OK. Everything is OK."
Carl's eyes started to get watery, and Ben's followed.
"Dad," Ben said, surprising himself.
He always referred to Carl as his "dad" but never imagined using that title to him directly.
"One more thing…"
Ben inhaled the tenderness that had now enveloped the room.
"I want you to release any guilt you may have about me or my mom. Please just let it go." Ben's voice cracked, his father's eyes closed, and tears streamed down his face.
Ben placed his hand on his father's forehead, like a priest bestowing a blessing, and said, "Let go. Be free. Be. Free."
Ben lowered his head and kissed his dad's forehead, and felt deep gratitude for the miracle that they had both just experienced together. All of his nerves and worries about meeting the moment dissipated in that room. For once, he was able to stop thinking and just act as his spirit moved him. It guided him through all of the clutter and complexities. It gifted both of them with something good, something sacred.