Sometimes (Father) Poem by Portia Lane

It was the winter of 03
or maybe 04
I remember it like it was yesterday
I lay sweating and shivering
beneath layers of covers
wishing it were layers of dirt, six feet deep
felt as if i were dying
wished i would die
I was 13
plagued with a sickness that many get during a lifetime of sicknesses
my heart boxing my ribs
my stomach holding on for dear life
as my reflexes reflected bulimia
all i could do was cry

my mother cared for me
she placed my head upon her thigh
and stroked my hair until had she tried
she could have rung my pain out of her pants
to ease my pain, she talked to me
in a soothing voice coaching me
telling me
if i wanted to feel better
i needed to drink
then she handed me a mug of cool tea
then pleaded that i sip the pain away
but i couldn't do it
my body forced me to be bulimic
if i sipped, it would make its way back up
not with the ease and simplicity as when it went down
but with pound after pound
it would rip my insides apart
why would i give this process a reason to start?

i couldn't do it
eventually because my body lacked adequate fluids
i began shaking without control
temperature boiling
volcanic
ready to explode

realizing there was nothing more she could do
she rushed me to the emergency room
Holding my hand the whole way
As if to say
I'm here, don't worry, you're going to be fine
In time we were there
Almost immediately I was admitted
I lay in the bed
As my mom stroked my head
And waiting for the doctor to appear
It turned out to be what we knew
I had the flu
He wanted to hook me up to an IV
But I hated needles
Weak, I could barely speak
But I managed to choke out in between tears
That my mom needed to call the man that had been
Giving me shots for the past 13 years
But she reasoned with me saying
That I must let this Doctor give me a shot
Dr. Jenkins was sleeping it was well after 3 o'clock in the morning
I then asked her to call my father
Tell him to come hold me while the stranger penetrates my arm
At the blink of an eye he was by my side
He held my hand as I tried to ignore the needle being jammed under my skin
Again
I remember it like it was yesterday

My father's hand was twice the size of mine
As I held it tight I felt the result of decades plus of working on cars
His hands were rough to the touch
The calluses on his palms were witness to his hard work
I felt the needle touch my skin
So I squeezed his hand with all my might
He did the same
In that moment I felt safe
My father was there to hold me
And then my mother had been there the entire time
It was he that made everything OK
I will never forget that day
The day I felt loved and cared for by my father

Sometimes
I close my eyes and try to imagine his hand in mine
I try to feel the rough skin that once made everything OK
I try to become the child I was then
Feeble and fearful
Then I picture him by my side holding me
Making me feel like everything is OK
But I can't do it
I can't picture it
I can't reincarnate the father I once had
He is dead
What's left of him as a shadow of the man that fade slowly in my memory

Sometimes
I wish that he could hear my tears as they drum my pillow at night
Maybe if he could hear them he would wake up
If he needs me to, I will become his helpless baby again
So he can save me again
I will seek the flu
Despite what it put me through the last time
I will refuse liquids
I will go to the hospital where I know the doctor will hook me up to an IV
Then I will call him
If it would mean he'd come and rescue me
It will be worth it
If it meant I had five minutes of holding his hand
Of feeling safe with the man who brought me into this world
My father
It will be worth it
But no matter how many times I cry at night
No matter how many times I have to ring out my pillow case
He doesn't appear
I figure now that I will never be able to hold my father's hand again
He is now just a shadow
A slowly fading memory
Of a man who wants made everything
OK