Page 48 of Worship
“Can Ella hear me?” I open the old book and smooth my hand over the page.
“She can.”
I don’t know what possesses me to want to read the words on the page, the ones my dad read to me as a child, but I begin to read the first few lines aloud.
As I read, I can hear Luca asking Ella if she likes what she’s hearing. I only read a few pages, but my heart is so incredibly full. There’s something about being able to share this memory with someone that made opening the box worth the initial sadness.
For the next few hours, we sit on the phone as I unpack each box, some harder than others. We’ve been doing this for so long that I’ve unpacked through Luca feeding Ella dinner and putting her down for the night.
At times, I was completely silent, and he filled the space with jokes and stories about how stupid his brothers are, and other times, I told him happy memories about something I’d found. And then there’s this moment. This moment I didn’t see coming. It’s closure.
I open the last box I have left and freeze.
Shit.
I’d forgotten about this one. When I moved in, I’d started unpacking, getting my closet done and most of my personal boxes opened, but the ones left were all the boxes I knew had my dad’s things mixed in.
Unpacking started as something to keep my mind off of my grief, then it became something that left me panicked. When I thought about what I would find and how I would feel, I couldn’t handle it, so I buried my head in the sand.
The whole night’s been bumpy sifting through old pictures and books, but it’s also felt cathartic. Every empty box has been a weight off my shoulders.
But right now, looking at what’s in front of me, all the dread, all the deep, crippling agonizing grief hits me all at once, and a sob escapes my mouth.
He’s really gone. My Dad is really gone.
I look around as the anguish rises inside my body.
The boxes are done. There aren’t anymore. I don’t have any more of him.
I’ll never know any more of him. He’ll never like anything new or have some dad opinion about what color I choose to dye my hair.
I’ll never sit through any torturous conversations about golf and take for granted that if I don’t call him back today, I can do it tomorrow. I’ll never have anyone remind me that I am not alone, when I can’t see past that my mom didn’t want me.
“Gretchen?” I hear Luca, but I can’t say anything. “Angel, are you crying?”
Another sob and I try and stop it by covering my mouth. My body shakes as the cries start and don’t stop. I grip my mouth harder, wishing, pleading inside for the hurt to stop, but it doesn’t relent. It won’t stop. I bring my other hand up to cover my mouth as my feet bring me closer to the phone.
“Gretchen. Answer me.” Luca’s voice booms through the phone.
I reach to pick it up, the sound of my grief escaping from my lips, but I drop the phone to the floor, unable to hold on due to my shaking hands.
The floodgates open, and I drop to my knees, weeping, reaching into the box and pulling out my dad’s sweater—the one he always wore, the one I cuddled up to and shed so many tears on when my mom left us, and the one he wore when we celebrated my acceptance to Columbia. And the one he was wearing the last day I made us family dinner.
That was the last night I saw him alive.
I pull the familiar fabric to my face and weep into it, rocking back and forth.
ALLIHEAR ARE HERtears.
The goddamn phone is still on, after what sounded like she dropped it. She’s sobbing.Fuck.I didn’t want this for her—this wasn’t how I wanted her to feel. I knew it would be hard, but I’ve cast her deep into her own personal hell, and I have to bring her back.
I stand from the couch and walk quickly to the intercom on the wall in the kitchen. I push the button for Rose’s room.
“I apologize, Rose, but I have to go out.” I don’t explain further.
“Not a problem, Mr. King, I’ll go sit with Ella.”
“Thank you, Rose.”
