“Really, Dad? Again? It’s 9 am!” When I let myself into my Dad’s house that morning, I didn’t expect to see him sitting on his couch nursing a bottle of brandy.
“Whass it to yooo?” He slurs his words. As if this isn’t a clear enough sign that he is bladdered, the way he tries to stand up and walk to the kitchen isa dead giveaway. Think Bambi on ice…blindfolded. He pings off the walls as he walks, utterly oblivious to anything.
“Dad, what are you doing?” I follow closely behind to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. It hurts my heart to see him like this, but over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to it somehow.
I look at him as he moves through the kitchen to the fridge. Really look at him. He looks older than he is, the bags under his eyes making his face droop. The yellow and red tinge to the whites of his eyes is dimming the sparkle that I’ve seen in pictures. The sad thing is, I’ve only ever known my father to be drunk. I’ve never met the man in the pictures, smiling and happy. I don’t remember what it was like before Mum died.I barely remember her at all, but I definitely don’t remember him.
I used to ache for a real dad. I wished for him to wake up one morning and come into my room, tell me how sorry he was, and that he was choosing me. Instead, I had to look after him as I had gotten older. Somehow, I became the parent and the caregiver, and he became more drunk.
“What the fuck are you still doing here?” His words are harsh; they always are lately.
“I’m making sure you’re okay, Dad, that’s all, but I’ll go if you want me to.” My voice is small. No matter how many times he snaps at me, he always chips away at a piece of my heart.
“This is all your fault, you know. You made her die…” He trails off, and I take a step back. Sure, he’s snapped before, but he’s never been cruel.
I don’t say a word, too scared to, but he carries on regardless of the torment he’s putting me through. “She refused the treatment because of you. She wanted you, but I only wanted her, and by the time you were born…it was too late. NOW GET OUT AND DON’T COME BACK!” He stumbles as he screams the words at me and falls.
Despite all he’s done, all he’s said, I dart forward to help him, but he shrugs me off.
“I SAID GO!” He spits the words out, and I know this time, he means them.
Standing up, I let the tears fall. “If I walk out of that door, Dad, you won’t see me again.” I don’t shout, I don’t scream, I just tell him the truth.
His reply is like a punch to my gut. “Good.”
That one little word still haunts me to this day. One word that can have two very different meanings.
Am I doing the right thing in getting ready and heading to that hospital? I don’t know, but I know that only I can answer that question.
So, I get ready, and as I do, I tell Peanut how much she’s loved, from me and her daddy. Cole.
**********
When you’re pregnant and you feel your baby move inside of you, it’s one of the world's best feelings. I used to think that it would make me feel sick or creeped out, but it’s the opposite.
The idea of visiting my dad? Now that has me feeling like I’m going to throw up at any moment. I put a hand on my stomach and whisper, “Wish me luck, Peanut?”
And what does she do? She moves around like she’s trying to high-five me.
I step onto the ward and make my way to the nurses' station, where I find the same nurse from yesterday sitting down.
“Uhm, hello. I’m here for visiting hours to see D-Don Fullman.” My hands are shaking, and my voice quivers.
She looks up, and a warm smile spreads across her face. “You must be Lacey. I didn’t catch your name yesterday, but Don has been telling me all about you. He’s been awake for a few hours and is doing okay. All his vitals are showing he’s recovering.” She nods, and something loosens inside of me. It's as if a balloon has popped, and all the air has deflated out of me. He’s okay. My dad is OK, and he’s been talking about me.
That's a good sign.
“Would you like me to take you to him, or would you like to walk there yourself?” I love her for giving me the option.
“I remember where he is, but thank you so much.” She nods once and returns to her work.
I face the corridor, and the nerves start up again, but I swallow them down and make my way to his room.
When I walk through the double doors, some of the men are still sleeping. My dad is in the far right corner, the curtains drawn around his left side. I edge forward and his feet come into view, then his legs, and finally his face. He’s sat up in the bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose, a puzzle book in his hands and a pen at the side of his mouth. He’s deep in concentration and hasn’t noticed me yet, so I take him in. His hair is grey now with wisps of white woven through the strands. His face is fuller, and those deep lines under his eyes have gone. I can see how he must smile now, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes giving that away.
I step forward, and my shoe squeaks on the floor; his eyes snap up to meet mine for the first time in seven years.
“Lacey?” He sounds like he’s seen a ghost, like he can’t believe I’m here.
