A Father's Wish

Ever have one of those days - or rather - weeks, where everything just seemed to be going wrong?

Death; the final stage of life; life, death, being the only two constants in the world. People lived, people died; the cycle lived on.

How did one cope with death, when they never felt for the person who had passed?

Dakota Garfield had been dealing with all of these emotions, as well as thoughts, since his father's passing two weeks ago.

The world just seemed lackluster; so boring.

All the color just faded from the world as a whole, and he was left seeing grays, sometimes whites.

He had barely gone to his college classes since his father's passing. Sure, he was allowed the time to grieve, could have taken the rest of the semester off - had he gone to the office and requested such a thing closer to-the-date; everything would have been fine.

But he hadn't.

Now, the toll of his emotions were messing with his life.

He had to figure out how to pay the school off to come back next semester, whenever he was ready, as he was flunking out on financial aid. (His mother had sole custody, so her finances had been used).

He could appeal the process next term, claim he had been going through too much, but if he could barely find the energy to get in the shower, where would he find the time and motivation, to go through such a trife process?

With a sigh, the young man hopped in his car, attempting to start the engine. His day had been trying. His landlord had sent him an eviction notice; he hadn't paid his rent that month. He had chosen to indulge himself in food with his last check from work, before he stopped going altogether, and hadn't enough money to pay for his roof over his head.

Everything was becoming bothersome.

The car stalled out, the battery drained to death. He didn't know anyone in this new town who would be able to come jump it, besides his father.

Who was now dead.

And he did not have any money to his name to call a mechanic to come help him.

He had chosen this location, some unknown small town in Iowa, to try and build a bridge with the man after he had walked out on his son and his son's mother seventeen years ago, just after his birth. His mother had said it was for the best - Raymond Garfield had been a horrible man to her in their younger years, always abusive, calling her names.

Dakota had never gotten the chance to get to know the man, even after moving. Their conversations, few and awkward. Raymond had wanted Dakota to do things he hadn't wanted to do - at least - not at the time.

But it had been a plan, and the eighteen-year-old man had wished he had taken his father up for it.

With a sigh, the young man stepped out of his car, sure he was going to get a ticket, and possibly towed.

'Just another thing to add to the ever-growing list,' he thought, as he embraced the cool, brisk, Autumn air around him, huddling his arms together to keep warm. He wished he had brought his jacket that day, but he hadn't.

His father's house was not very far from the school, where he had been to meet with the financial aide department, which had brought him all of this news. Community colleges were supposed to be resourceful; helpful; but right now, he felt worse than he had before he had walked in. There was no other option besides to come up with the money for his next term, or appeal the process - and he didn't see himself going down either of those paths any time soon.

He did not have anywhere else to go; he couldn't face his apartment after being sent an eviction notice. He had time to figure that out, and the utilities at his father's house were paid for, while his belongings and personal affairs were in limbo still.

So he did the only thing he could do, and trudged along the winding sidewalk, not paying attention to passersby as he went, until he stood outside of the two-story brick building in the modest neighborhood.

The house had grown quiet since he had last visited. The dog, Winston, had been taken by his aunt who lived a few towns over. With a steadying breath, he lifted the brick under the windowsill closest to the gate that hid the spare key to the house his father used whenever he was too drunk to figure out his key ring.

Opening the door, the man peered inside, finding the light-switch closest to the door with ease, filling the house with a fluorescent glow.

He hadn't paid attention to his surroundings the first few times he had been there, as he had been too scared to do anything but watch the man he had heard horror stories of growing up his whole life, but here was, alone - and he could barely breath. He had to remind himself, it was okay to be afraid. The man was gone, the terror was gone, he just needed to breathe. He had every right to be in the place - however he felt about the man, he was still his father.

With that in his mind, he closed the front door behind him, and made his way into the living area just off the front door, not bothering to take his shoes off like he had done so the first few times he had visited, as a way to prove to himself this really was real - and he really had power here, now -- at least, until this, too, was taken from him. With a hearty sigh, he ventured up to the stairs, pausing every now and then. Letters and pictures were framed throughout the house, and it took Dakota a full minute of staring at the writing to realize they were his own letters he had sent to his father when he was growing up.

He got a little angry, then. If Raymond had received the letters, why had he never wrote back, until Dakota had finished high school, practically begging him to come live nearby?

He stomped up the stairs in a fit of rage, and burst into the elder man's bedroom, taking in the sight. On the desk, sat an envelope, next to a little black book.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Dakota sat at the chair at the desk, taking a deep breath as he opened the notebook. Upon the first page was his name, written large and in flawless-cursive. The next page, began a letter, all written in flawless cursive, besides a few spots, where it was obvious the author of the note had grown tired of writing:

"My dearest son, Dakota,

I do not have long to live. I do not know if I will be able to give this letter to you upon my death bed or not, so I will be giving it to your aunt to hold onto. I was never a good man to your mother. She never kept me away by force, I could have come and seen you any time I wished - I just never could find the courage to do so. Throughout your life, your letters you sent to me, the class pictures every year - they had always been my greatest of treasures - even now - as wealthy a man as I had been til the news of my Cancer diagnosis had come to me. I found out I had four months to live when I had reached out to you this June. You had just finished high school, had been in the top fifteen percent of your class, and had ambitions as wide as the sky during that time - I would know - I reread all of your letters over the years, as I sat wondering what I should write to get your attention after so long of silence.

The truth was - I did -- do -- not deserve to have a son.

Did not deserve to have you in my life.

What kind of man just runs away from his problems, rather than own up to his mistakes?

But after getting that diagnosis, I knew I had to find some way to make amends.

So I invited you to come stay in my hometown. It is not as glamorous as I had claimed it to be in my letter to you, I knew that upon my writing to you, you have probably figured that out by now. It has a lot of spirit and spunk. I know, if you gave it enough time, you would see that, as well.

I am sorry if I came off as eccentric, standoffish, or rude the few times you had visited me during my brief time with you. I was dying - no excuse to have behaved the way I did, I know that now. I should have been welcoming, open to a relationship with you.

But I just didn't know how. Every time I saw you in person, I was reminded of the pain I caused you and your mother all those years ago.

Even in my dying state, I could not own up to the man I had been in the past.

I know this will not make up for all the pain you felt from having an absent father, but I leave you with everything I had in my life, at the end of it.

First, my house, as well as everything inside of it. Fully paid off, of course.

Second, a check for twenty-thousand-dollars - you may do as you wish with it. Tear it up. Blow it all on whatever college students do these days - invest it - it is yours.

Third, my law office I had since I moved here. I used all the assets the firm had to pay the lot mortgage for the next ten years to come, while you finished school, and took some time to yourself afterwards, as well as a comfortable sum of money to all her employees, until they found new employment.

If you no longer wish to become a lawyer, at any point in time, I have made arrangements with my sister to talk with the realtors about selling the property and giving you any sum that came out of it. She will also take a few cases here and there to keep it going.

I understand if you could never forgive me, but I hope this can be a start.

I will be waiting for you, at the rainbow bridge, my son.

Sincerely, all my best,

Your not-so-loving-Father."

Dakota re-read the last few lines his mouth open in shock.

‘Was this real?' he asked himself. Opening the envelope, the young man found a full set of keys; two house keys, a truck key, as well as what looked like a pair of office keys, and the tiny label 'o' on the underside confirmed that.

The deed to the house was the last thing in the envelope, everything signed over to him. All he had to do was sign his name, and it was his.

Taking a steadying breath, the young man let out the tears he had been holding back for so long, his chest heaving as he felt all the weight of the last two weeks - no - the last seventeen years - lift off his shoulders.

He would be fine.

This was more than enough to turn his life around, to continue a legacy.

"Thank you, dad," he said aloud, the tears still falling down his cheeks, placing his head into his arms, staying that way until the sun set, and into the night, too stunned to move.