What would you do Jake, if suddenly I wasn't here tomorrow and you were alone?.....

This question is one that my father asked me a few months back, the words hanging over his lips in my mind for far longer than they were spoken. I replied at first, a nervous smile across my face by saying "I guess I would collect the insurance money and have a ball for a week or two to compensate for a lost father," and cracked a smile as fake as the sanity of Tom Cruise. I had thought about this before, the grim statement that in possibly less than forty years the man who raised me could be gone from my life for the rest of its duration.
He seemed to detect the sorrow that befell me at the thought of losing the one man who would do anything to make sure I stayed well, who encouraged me when I had no one else and held me as a child between my mother's physiologic, manic breakdowns that landed her in the hospital or insane asylum every six months.

This man was my creator and own personal god as I grew up that I now know is only just a human being. And to think of him dead empied a small part of my soul.
He placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a long hug that I held and enjoyed the warmth of. "I don't know what I would do," I stated bluntly and honestly. He just smiled after pulling back from the embrace: "No one ever does. You'll never be ready, I won't when grandpa Ken is gone. Just know that you'll never really be without me. You're half of me in body, and have my whole heart and all my lessons. I'm proud of you Jake" To which I started to tear up to the profoundness of the warmth his comment filled me with.

"Everything I've ever done is for you to be proud of me. Thank you dad,"
and we embraced once more, then afterwards opened up a beer and watched some Rugby....
  • Seattle, WA
  • JoinedOctober 3, 2011

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JakeHires JakeHires Jul 14, 2012 05:00AM
@tinkleberry16 Awesome, I'll take a look at your stuff as well :)
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Story by Jacob Hires
Nightingale by JakeHires
Nightingale Romance
Twenty years in the future and four years after a mysterious infection sweeps across the human population, ninety-five percent of people are turned into night-dwelling creatures known as Nightingales, blinded temp...
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