Visitation

“Dad.”

“…”

“Hey Dad. Dad!”

“Wha…? Who’s there?”

“Dad, I need you to focus. It’s me, Matt, your son.”

“Matt? Matt’s dead. You are just a wish.”

“No Dad, I am not a wish, it’s really me. I need to talk to you and I don’t have a lot of time.”

“If you are Matt, then how come I can’t see you?”

“Think about it. You can’t see me because I’m Matt. I died last month in that car accident. Remember?”

“Matt! It’s really you! How is this possible?”

“Where I am now, there is nothing that is not possible. I am in the after-life. Actually, I am between here and there for the moment. I came back to talk to you.”

“Are you okay Matt?”

“I am fine. It’s you that we need to be concerned about. You have spent the last month just sitting there in that chair looking through old photographs. You haven’t bathed and have barely eaten. This can’t go on.”

“I know. I intend to end it soon.”

“I know that. Dad, I want you to reconsider.”
“I am not interested Matt. I just can’t handle this. I can’t take the fact that you are gone forever. There is nothing more to say.”

“Dad, I am not gone forever. I am right here. I am always right here.”

“No you’re not right here. This is just me talking to myself.”

“Let’s pretend for a second that you are wrong. What would you say to me?”

“I would tell you not to go away. I would tell you to tell God to give you back to me; he can name the terms. I would tell you I’m sorry for all of the days I spent away at work instead of watching you grow up. I would tell you that I need one more hug. I want to watch one more movie with you. I want to coach you one last time on the high school wrestling team. I would tell you I’m sorry for every missed opportunity for us to be together that I overlooked to do something else.”

“Wow! That’s quite a list. I know you have been chewing over all of that for the last few weeks. Now it’s my turn.”

“Your turn? To tell me something?”

“Yes. I would tell you not to have any regrets. Get rid of the guilt and accept the fact that your memories are a gift not a burden. I would tell you that your grief is a gift as well. It comes from love and as such, must be savored for what it really is; a declaration of what we mean to each other. Then I would tell you it’s time to move on. Get up out of that chair and reenter the real world. I ask that you do this in memory of me for this is what I want for you.”

“I love you Matt.”

“I love you to Dad. Now get going.”

“I will.”

Word count 500


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