Well this is another story I wrote back around the time I wrote Comfort For The Fallen, it's a good deal differen't I suppose, I can't for the life of me rember why I wrote it though. I do ask you forgive my horrid comma using, I do have trouble on that and I'm trying to fix it. Other than that feel free to comment, I also hope you enjoy this story.
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It would be sixteen years to this very day that my wife was taken from me, only days after our daughter’s birth. Even though I didn’t like to admit it she was my everything, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. It had been about a year after we were married she had pretty much told me when I got home, ready or not she was pregnant. I had been ecstatic, who wouldn’t be when they were in my position? Sure things were a bit rocky now and again but I was completely content with my life and job. At the age of twenty-seven I was blissfully happy. Yet that came to a halt. I may have been granted another angel but at the price of the one I already had. Now at the age of forty-four my last angel is gone and I no longer have any one to keep me company, or bring any sort of joy to my life.
You may be wondering about this angel, she came in the form of my daughter who I noticed as time went on grew increasingly more like her mother. I became immediately attached to her the minute the nurse place her into my arms, it was funny how such a small being could scream so loud but then cease those horrid cries and fall deadly silent. Those few minutes were a crucial part in my life if I think about it now, for a few moments she judged me and in the end I guess she was taken with me and I her. One might think I’m crazy since I describe the first real interaction between my daughter and I this way, but they weren’t there, the way her blue eyes looked me over, a pout on her small chubby face. It was so intense, she looked about ready to cry as I rocked her in my arms murmuring complete nonsense, anything to keep the shrieks at bay. Then, finally her little face smoothed out, she seemed to have lost the want to scream Slowly she drifted to sleep in my arms, at the very same time I was losing her mother, as they more or less pushed me from the room.
For the next sixteen years I wrapped my life around her, devoted my time to taking care of her, making sure she grew up right. In the beginning it was ok I suppose, she was small and slept most the day and all I had to do was feed her and change diapers. Soon I hired a baby sitter to watch her while I went to work, even though I had insurance money from my wife’s death I wasn’t going to waste it all away because I was lazy.
Soon her fist birthday came around, she was still easy to care for and with the help of the nanny or baby sitter, we got through the first year pretty well. Though all things came to an end. The nanny ended up quitting, she had gotten a better job but that wasn’t the worst part. It was just after my Angel’s second birthday, she fell extremely ill. For the life of me I couldn’t remember what had made her so sick but I do remember sitting in the hospital for at least three days straight, unable to do anything for her except sit in the room and hold her hand. It was torture, she hardly woke up except to eat now and again and she never smiled, I thought I would die.
Though we pulled through, barely it seems but nothing would prepare me for when she started school, about week later she came home and cried, talking about how the boys chased her and everything. I did my best not to laugh, I remember that age and under stood how the boys were thinking, my daughter on the other hand didn’t. So I did my best to console her. Things were relatively easy when it came to school for a few years after that, I just sat through what ever gossip she would tell me. I wasn’t completely alone when it came to all this I had a few different girl friends who helped me along the way.
My little girl loved to play sports, she was on the basketball team, volley ball team and any other team I can think of, though for some reason she never liked cheerleaders, it was one thing I never understood. In fact I was called down to the school more than once because she got into a fight with a cheerleader, I hated to have to listen to the principle rant and tell me how to raise my kid, I swear if she hadn’t been in the office when he would talk to me I would have just snapped.
So yeah things were a bit rocky, but it only got worse when she became a teenager, I won’t even mention some of the stuff I had to go through. Though the thing I hated the most were the boy friends, the young men who seemed to turn my daughter against me, she would get so mad because I wouldn’t let her go out with them but then she snuck out anyway! When confronted about it she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say ‘So what I did it, get over it.’ That started the whole rebel against dad phase, which I hoped to god she would grow out of, because she had a way of ripping out my heart stomping on it with out a care, then coming back and fixing everything. I wondered how she had been able to wrap me around her little finger so tight she more or less led be around on a leash, there were very few times I wouldn’t give into her demands, assuming they were reasonable and she knew it.
I guess I started to see the change in her right before she got into high school, the want for darker more revealing clothing, coming home late. (She came home one night with her eye brow pierced!) How secretive she became, not ever wanting to talk to me anymore. Sure all kids grew independent from their parents, but not like this, it was like I was the devil or something. I chose to ignore this, thinking she was just going through a phase, I brushed off concerned parents comments. Now I know I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have sat down and talked to her, or disciplined her more severely, made her see a councilor, done anything else besides over reacting and pretty much kicking her out.
The reason I over reacted is I had come home early to wish her a happy birthday and spend a little time with her, I knew she would probably leave to go out with her friends. The sight that awaited me though was the worst thing I had ever seen. My little girl sat on the bathroom floor, her black sleeve pushed up getting ready to stick a needle into her skin again. There were various dots that blood was flowing from, scars littered the pale skin and she just sat there syringe still in hand looking up at me with wide blue eyes. Her eyes I remember held so much fear, sadness, then nothing but hurt as I slammed the door on her.
Two days later the anniversary of my wife’s death was approaching. The front door burst open, I rushed into the hall, the sight presented to me I could never imagine in my worst nightmare. There was blood every where, I caught the sound of a faint whisper, it came from the broken form of my daughter. I was caught in a horrible dream. I grabbed the pone dialed nine-one-one. I don’t remember telling the woman on the line anything or the EMTs rushing in. All I can say that I remember is looking over my daughter's unconscious form as I rocked her back and forth in my arms. Her dark hair was matted with blood, her face bruised and bleeding from deep gashes. Her clothes were torn all along her arms there seemed to be knife cuts, just a bit above where her heart would be it looked like something had pierced the skin deeply. There were multiple stab wounds to her stomach, I could see the blood seep out from her torn shirt. This image would never leave me, I watched her almost bleed to death in my arms.
The ride to the hospital seemed long though sitting in the waiting room was worse. Minutes seemed like years, hours seemed like a life time. Some where in the back of my mind I knew she wouldn’t make it, yet a part of me held on to the idea that she might. False hope tantalized me, doctors had stabilized her, but for how long? She woke up for a short time, she apologized to me though all I could say is that it wasn’t her fault… It was mine. She told me what happened in her weak raspy voice. Then she started to tell me how she loved me and how she was sorry again. I didn’t understand why she was saying sorry again at the time. After she promised me she would sleep and get better I left the room, I started down the hall way to the waiting room, the nurses said I could sleep on the couch there. I looked out the glass doors at the end of the hall as I neared the waiting room.
The sun was rising and for some reason it filled me with dread. Now I know why she said sorry and why I felt so much dread. In the early hours of the morning, my daughter lost her life. It seemed like she only had enough strength to steal a few more hours of life for me. Three days after her birthday and on the anniversary of her mother’s parting, my last angle spread her wings and left me. I don’t know what I did wrong for this to happen, maybe I took what I was given for granted. Maybe I wasn’t a good enough parent, or just didn’t understand things as well as I thought I did. What ever the reason may be, it doesn’t matter because it ended in me being alone. |
Submission Name: My Last Angel
