Dad, No One Will Laugh at You Anymore chapter 08
“Kellen, you were such a good kid. You did so well in school, always top of your class. Dad was so proud of you back then.”
He ran his fingers gently over the photograph on the diploma. “It was all my fault. I ground all that pride out of you. I stole every bit of your happiness.”
He sat there for a long time, until the sun dipped low and the last of its light came through the window and fell across his shoulders and across my photograph.
He stood slowly, walked to the desk, and picked up my urn. He held it against his chest, carried it to the window, and looked out at the lights glowing in every house across the neighborhood.
“Kellen, Dad’s going to take you to see the stars. You used to love watching the stars when you were little.”
That night, Dad sat by the window with my urn in his arms and watched the stars until morning. He hummed the lullaby he used to sing when I was small, the one he murmured until I fell asleep. I had not heard it in years.
The familiar melody and the softness of his voice felt like a sliver of warm sunlight reaching into something cold and hollow inside me.
After that night, something in Dad seemed to shift.
He started taking care of himself again. He combed his hair, changed his clothes, and went outside for walks. He began teaching himself to cook the dishes I used to love.
He still talked to me every day. He still kept my photograph spotless. The look in his eyes was no longer only despair and regret. There was something gentler there now, something almost like hope.
On his walks, he greeted the older neighbors. At the market, he haggled with the vendors with a smile. When the holidays arrived, he cooked a full spread, set it in front of my photograph, and said, “Kellen, it is the holidays. Come home and eat.”
He was not afraid of being laughed at anymore. He no longer cared what anyone thought. He finally understood that the most precious thing in this world had never been his pride. It had always been the person beside him.
He had understood it too late, too late for me to still be here.
Another holiday season arrived. The neighborhood was strung with lights, and laughter and the smell of home cooking drifted from every doorway.
Our house was no different. Dad made a full table of food, soup and pot roast and everything I used to love. He set my photograph at the head of the table, poured me a glass of juice, and poured himself a glass of wine.
He raised his glass and touched it gently to my photograph. “Kellen, happy holidays. This one’s for you.”
He took a sip, and the tears came, but he smiled through them. “Dad’s doing okay now. I’m not afraid of being laughed at anymore, and I’ve stopped tearing myself apart over it. Do not worry about me. I’m going to live a good
life and see the world for the both of us.”
He sat at the table and ate while he talked to me. He told me about everything that had happened over the past year, about the small things going on around the neighborhood, and about what he hoped for in the days ahead.
His voice was warm and gentle, like winter sunlight, and something inside me felt warm for the first time in a long time.
I floated beside him and watched his smile. I looked at the food on the table and at the lights in every window outside, and I realized that it had all been worth something.
My life had bought Dad’s awakening. It had freed him. It had made him let go of his pathetic pride and actually live.
I would never sit beside him again, never taste his soup again, never hear him call my name. I knew he would carry the memory of me and keep going. He would live the life that had been meant for both of us.
Outside the window, the snow began to fall again. Soft flakes drifted against the glass like gentle feathers.
Dad watched the snow and smiled. “Kellen, look. It’s snowing, just like the day you left. Only this time, Dad will never let you be hurt again. You’ll never have to feel alone.”
I looked at his back and at the gray threading through his hair, and I said the words quietly in my heart.
“Dad, I do not blame you anymore.
“Dad, please live well. Eat well, sleep well, and see the world.
“Dad, no one will ever laugh at you because of me again.
“Dad, I love you.”
