As the minutes counted down ending the year 2017, I sat bedside to my father in the hospital waiting for what fate had in store for his life. He trusting me in his weakest moments to honor his WILL for his life. His will instructed no resuscitation. His will instructed the refusal of any further treatment. His will requested that I step aside to witness what happens when your will power is stronger than your physical Self. I identify this WILL he demonstrates to be an assignable energy that can be physically materialized. His last lesson for me to learn would be Alchemy.
My first lesson begun in silent observation of his choice of Yes or No. Awakened to form, color, tears and his goodbye......where sleep was once an infinite bed of love created between the two of my parents. I knew not where his footsteps led but always prayed they would detour to still find me waiting for his return. In days of no him, he taught me the power of imagination to assign life purpose and direction when there seemed to be none. He helped me to understand that all life was valuable and to identify its correlation to my own. Everything I extended, invested and offered life, I offered him. None of which could pay for 17 years behind bars and coping mechanism to refute the pain that came with cages and distance. "Hi Dad..... It's Kelly." "I'm sorry....I do not have a daughter." I don't remember how many times I repeated "It's me ...... Dad. It's me." Waiting for him to remember the tone in my voice to ignite heart strings fragile and worn. I would be physically before him less than 24 hours later to prove I was real and breathing.
The tables turned....he now waited for my footsteps to return to him. My footsteps found him blending into buildings of city blocks hungry. My footsteps walked beside him for short stints of time to days where there was no him. In our synchronized walking he warned of energy vampires and made queries of my happiness. Other times there was no walking just him hiding before me where I remained still out of reach. Detoured footsteps became deliberate decisions to stay away because he did not want my help. For my own mental health, I don't know how many more times I could leave him on the corner of Webster Ave and 14th street because homelessness was his choice. A messenger was sent whispering my father's name enough that I picked up the phone after 5 years of no communication.
He knew me this time and wanted to see me. I oblige his wish to find him withering away where there was no love or concern. Thank God for a childhood friend that showed up in my absence while I debated what to do. On everything I knew love to be I kidnapped him. This choice brought all the lessons I avoided about deep connection and the imbalance you can suffer. To rage war in his defense was a thoughtless act if it meant his health and his happiness were compromised. This love demonstrated the responsibility life demanded concerning everyone involved.
As I struggled to battle systems and culture that feed off the weak and poor, depression lingered in as my father took up the sword to fight for my health and happiness. His adamant strokes of fierce clarity would not allow me to be swallowed whole. He demanded I master me first in this unfamiliar terrain of wanting more for him than he wanted for himself. No help would be received as he awaited for a report of my alignment. His eyes scanned over me reading my energy and assessing if I had learned. With a simple head nod, I had passed only after failing.