He lay on the bed propping his head up with his hand. Eyes locked on me so that he could receive lyric cues. He listened attentively, trying to match his singing with the song. The micro-smile forming at the corners of his mouth signaled his enjoyment — singing through his favorite songs.
We recited the poems he quotes most — Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. He claimed that he would sleep soon, but I still had miles to go.
His hand came out from under his head. His lead lay on the pillow. His hands clasped his body and then outstretched themselves asking for a hug.
I pulled the covers over him. Gave him a hug. He gave me a kiss. And that’s the moment.
I perceived a warm come across my body, and I perceived a light. The world appeared bright to me. As if ball lightning lit up the room. I sensed a ti-bond between myself, my dad, and something else — something else in the room with me.
Something else giving me a notion that nothing really matters besides this moment. And more than that, something else communicating that what matters is love and compassion, not score keeping or remembering how I treated or was treated to/by others in the past. That what mattered was a kind of pragmatic optimism about the present.
My mind’s eye observed the absurdity of family politics, communication dynamics, the need to over-engineer relationships, hate, dislike, pettiness, and the like when juxtaposed with love.
It was hard not to cry and laugh.
It wasn’t sadness, it was a grief… but not the grief at the loss of someone important. It was relief from shedding myself of ideas and notions that never really served me or anybody else… and happiness to realize that nothing but this moment and how it’s used truly matters.