Charlie was able to tell Sandy, practically upon his deathbed, that he and Cari were going to have a baby. I think it was comforting to my brother to know that he had imparted this knowledge to his dying father. For me, it was bitter. Bitter because I had had two children and their births had never changed anything in our relationship. Also because Charlie would never know how Sandy would have truly reacted to the news. Sandy was not able to communicate. My heart was halved; I wanted for Charlie to believe that Sandy would have become the father he had never been and I wanted for Charlie to realize that Sandy would never become the father we had wanted.
Sandy never became communicative again. He made facial grimaces and fluttered his eyes, but it was impossible to know what he understood. As he lay in that hospital bed, I leaned close to his ear... I thought of all things I could say, of all things a daughter should say, of everything I wanted to say. I could not, even rapt with pity and sympathy, bring myself to say "I love you". I passed my hand over his forehead and whispered that I had to leave but that I would bring my children back. My father turned his head and opened his pale blue eyes wide. I felt myself quickly inhale. I felt my eyes sting. In 37 years, my father had never conveyed as much emotion as he did wordless at that moment.
I could write that I fell upon his bedside, embracing him, feeling his warm hand on my hair... but it did not happen. I retreated within myself. Sandy faded away under a morphine cloud.
But Charlie soldiered on. Charlie stood strong for my father's wife. He cried and held his father's hand. He told him that he loved him and that he would have a child that would carry his name.
I told myself I pitied Charlie, for his hope, his abiding love, his trust. In truth, though, I pitied myself. I had become as jaded and hollow as the person who made me that way.
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