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Unformatted text preview: Epilogue 30 years later.... I awake to the smell of stale air and precious noises, laying with my body hooked up to machines. Every so often a mellow beep, letting the doctors know that my blood pressure is normal. Finally I am in the place one step away from death, the place that my actions warrant. In the corner I see my wife, sleeping in a hospital chair for a man that doesn't deserve her. I want to reach out. I want to tell her that I'm sorry. Sorry for the terrible husband and father that I've become, but once again I do nothing. Just like I have been for the years we've been married. Nothing. I wonder how we got to this place we are in now. This silent sadness built between the spaces where angry words and violence once ensued. I think back to the day we met. She was selling flowers on the side of the street. I remember the exact way that the sun hit her face, just at the right angle to make her eyes gleam in the sun. She was beautiful. I approached her and we got to talking. On our first date we went out to dinner at an elegant restaurant. Afterwards we went to a local park and we talked all night till the sun came up. She was like no one I had ever met. When she looked into my eyes I felt important. I wanted everyone to see us together. I wanted to scream her name from the top of a mountain. I wanted to spend my entire life with her. Two months later we were married. Nine months following that we had our first child. Never were any two people more happily married. After the birth of our second child, roughly around the death of my sister, Josie who was gunned down by the police in a civil rights protest, was when the fights started. The fights were about nothing mostly, and yet about everything. That's when the drinking started. I was back to my childhood, but this time around I was the father. I was the husband. I was the abuser. I was the man who shot Lamar. I was the soldier who shot Haywood. I was the cancer that took my mother's life. I was the police man who gunned down my sister. Worst of all, I was my father. I was my worst nightmare come to life. My children feared me, my wife too smitten to see the terrible person I was. I loved my family but I couldn't take away the impact of my past. In the years that followed, my mentality began to shatter. My father had committed suicide, and my third son was stillborn. My wife began to be depressed, and I to be distant. The abuse slowly became an ineffective outlet, and that's when all that was left was silence. Now here I am, laying on my deathbed. The place that I'd hoped for all these years. I am Ashamed with myself, and my life. My children deserve a better father, my wife a better husband. I have no one to blame but myself. I pushed everyone who ever loved me away. Yes, my wife sits beside me. Physically she is here with me. Her beautiful face, her beautiful body is in this room, but I chased her away ages ago. I lost her along with my mother, my father, my sister, and my best friends. For years I watched my loved ones die, and now its my turn to die. My turn to die the only way I ever could, the only way I know how, alone. ...
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This note was uploaded on 04/17/2008 for the course EDU 101 taught by Professor Lesileking during the Fall '07 term at SUNY Oswego.
- Fall '07