Death is Not the End, Daddy

by Nate Allen

understand what that means. There is a light in me, a power much stronger than the one that has held me prisoner. It’s not in the bear I carry, but in me.

  The weight of the bear has changed. The light is gone from its eyes. I drop it, continuing to step toward the shed. It’s only feet away. I am not going to stop. I’ve come too far to turn away. There are answers why this happened to me, answers Teddy never wanted to give.

  This is the door. When dad called me, I didn’t know what was going to happen when I stepped inside. On that day, I burst through the door, excited to help out. Today, I look at the splintered wood, grab the handle, and pull it open. Before I even step in, I can see the teddy bears perched on the highest shelf. Dad’s pack of cigarettes is on display on the left bottom corner of the table he held me against… it’s the small, dark space I remember.

  Your dad hid things too, John. Look in his toolbox. Even without the teddy, the voice is guiding me. It makes the darkness of this place seem lit. I flick the switch screwed into the exposed stud near the door. The light is barely existent. Maybe forty watts dangle from a thin wire high above the table. Dad’s toolbox is tucked under the table. I have never touched it.

  I take a deep breath and release. The toolbox is faded red and maybe a little bigger than a twelve pack. It’s heavier than it looks. I put it on the table, and unlatch it. It has two layers; one extends out as I pull back the cover. The tools are rusted but categorized. It seems like something dad cared about. There is nothing but tools in the first compartment. I lift it out. In the bottom compartment, there are sheets of notebook paper. I pull them out:

  February 26th, 1981

  Anna is terminal. We got the news today. She just smiled and said, “If it’s my time to go, then it’s my time to go. I’ll be with Jesus. And there’s no better place to be.”

  This has been a very long road. She was diagnosed a little over two years ago. The doctor estimates she maybe has another 3 to 5 months.

  I bedded her down inside, and put on her favorite record of hymns. She said she loved me, and I said it back. I still do love her. I never stopped. But, I am starting to let go of her.

  March 15th, 1981

  I used to hate dad because he cheated on mom. Now, I’m no better than him. But, I can’t stop myself from going to see Stephanie. Seeing Anna dying in this drawn out way makes me feel sick. Just being in the same room with her tears me apart inside. But, Stephanie makes me feel alive. And to feel alive after all of this is something I won’t give up. I haven’t slept with her. But I have already cheated, because in my heart, Anna is already gone.

  I don’t want the responsibility of being her husband anymore. The last two years have been lived on a day-to-day basis. When she was too sick to lift her head, it was my job to try and tell John that Jesus loved him and that everything was going to be okay. I have stopped believing that lie. And I have stopped telling it. Over the last two years I have remained strong, organizing prayer chains for Anna, fasting for days for her, praying in tongues for hours straight. All that’s come of it is a terminal diagnosis. I’m done praying. I’m done believing.

  March 28th, 1981

  Anna seemed very present tonight, but the medicine was still weighing down her personality. I don’t joke with her anymore, because her reply is groggy and disconnected. She used to be so beautiful, but the sickness has taken away my wife, and left me with a beaten up shell.

  Stephanie makes it all go away for a while. I drive down the road to her house, excited, even though I shouldn’t be. I know I should be at home with Anna, caring for her. I miss her body: her lips kissing mine, her breasts in my hands, her moans as I make love to her. I miss that. But, that’s not our marriage anymore. I’m just watching the sickness take away all of the memories I had with her before this.

  When Stephanie and I sleep together, I think of Anna. I close my eyes and imagine her lips against mine, her breasts in my hands, her moans calling out my name. It’s a sin what I’m doing. Why I keep doing it, I don’t know. Before I ever met Anna, I had a problem with cheating. Like father, like son. But, then I met Anna. And my heart, my affections, every part of me desired only her.

  I hate myself for what I am doing, but I can’t stop. A big part of me doesn’t want to.

  April 10th, 1981

  It’s become almost nightly. Stephanie’s arms around me have almost become the only way I can fall asleep. Anna takes a variety of sleeping pills and is out by 9:00 at the latest. I always tuck John in before I leave. He probably knows something is going on. He is almost twelve, but he doesn’t say anything. I put on a fatherly face for him, even though I am not fatherly. He wants me to be there for him. Anna wants me to stay true to what I promised her. But, she isn’t enough anymore. The more I see Stephanie, the more I realize that Anna has lost that special place in my heart. When I sleep with Stephanie, I now keep my eyes open. I no longer imagine Anna in place of her. I love the feeling of being with Stephanie. I don’t have to change her messed-in sheets. I don’t have to nod along to disconnected ramblings about the afterlife like I do with Anna. I can talk to her about my day, and then feel her body against mine.

  April 25th, 1981

  John’s twelve today. The day he was born was the happiest day of my life. I remember holding Anna’s hand, and talking her through it. I remember how tired I was after fourteen hours. I couldn’t begin to imagine how tired she was. And John wasn’t born for another six. I remember Anna saying that despite the horrible weather, it was the brightest day of her life.

  I don’t know what I’m doing. I have broken my vows. Reading back over what I have written, I have become a stranger to myself. I don’t want to say goodbye to Anna. I hate myself for what I’m doing. I haven’t been a father since the day we got the news that Anna is dying, and I know my son needs me now more than ever. If it’s hard for me, I can’t imagine how hard it is for him.

  This morning, John asked me where I was last night. He said mom woke him up crying for me. He said she was in so much pain. He said he tried to make her feel better by saying a little prayer for her. I didn’t give him an answer where I was, I changed the subject.

  It hurts more than I can put into words to watch my wife slowly shut down. I have tried to avoid it, turning to another woman. I have betrayed sixteen years of trust. But, maybe there is still a chance for me. I will end things with Stephanie tonight. And then I will come home and be a father and husband once again.

  April 26th, 1981

  I told Stephanie we were done. I said how I have become a stranger to myself. I was so close to leaving through the front door, but then I went back. My mind was telling me to leave, to go back home and hold Anna. But, my piece was telling me to tear off her clothes and make her moan. The betrayal continues.

  I know what I am doing. And I know that if Anna knew, she would be devastated. How can I know this, and still keep doing it? When it started with Stephanie, it was just talking. She was able to relate to me. I knew it was wrong, that even spending that time with her was a betrayal. But, I kept spending time with her, because she made me feel free. I never planned on sleeping with her. It just happened. A moment that led to another. Then it grew.

  I loved how uncomplicated it was. She was an escape for me, other than this shed. Now, there is no escape. I think I would have been free had I left last night. Instead, I can only think about how it feels for my piece to be inside of her.

  April 30th, 1981

  It’s over. Stephanie realized that our connection has become all about the physical. When she told me to leave, I wanted to hold her down and stick my piece inside. I was so close.

  But, I didn’t. I drove half an hour away to Briars Lilly and paid a red haired prostitute 100 dollars for two hours. I never thought I would be writing these words. I feel sick reading them, but I still want to do it again.

  I should have walked away from Stephanie. I had an escape, but I went back. Now, I can’t stop myself. The urges never were like this when I u
sed to cheat. I’m controlled by my piece. It wants what it wants, and I can’t say no anymore. But, I have to try. I haven’t completely lost myself yet. The man I used to be is still in there. I can feel him fighting. He’s weak and withered, and tired of the fight. But, he’s fighting. I can’t give in again. I won’t.

  May 1st, 1981

  My piece keeps me thinking about one more time. It even seems to agree with my stopping. It wants just one more time with the prostitute. One more, then done. I haven’t given in. I know it won’t be just one more time. It never is.

  I kept Anna company last night. Her thoughts were stuck in the moment when we met. She remembers what I was wearing, how my hair looked, and how she felt as soon as she saw me. She talked about how much she loved me, and that she wants me to be okay when she’s gone. I nearly told her everything. I was so close, but I held it in. It would be cruel.

  It would make me feel better to be able to tell somebody. But, I don’t deserve to feel better. I don’t deserve to have this heavy weight lifted from my shoulders. I chose to go back to Stephanie. I knew what the consequences were going to be. They have only grown stronger.

  I am writing with one hand, and palming my keys with the other. I just need one more time. I just need