The Prodigal Daughter by J.P. Garland

Author:J.P. Garland [Garland, J.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2021-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

A Dying Man’s Room

The room was bright. There was an IV-stand and various pill-bottles on a hospital table that was moved in. I looked around at the many photos, but none was of me. I was removed from the family record, like some out-of-favor apparatchik. I passed around Father Mike as he left, likely to lurk and eavesdrop, to my mother, who hugged me.

“It’s important to him, baby. Tell him you’re not really—”

“I am what I am, Mom.”

“But—”

“I’m not here to fight or to argue. I’ve been led to understand that he had a change of heart about me. Is that not true?”

“We all thought when you saw him, you’d understand, that you’d come around. Why can’t you just do that? For me?”

“That’s what it’s come down to? You want me to lie to him—this is not some phase I’m going through, this is who I am, as god made me—to soften the blow after all he’s put me through. After his denial of my family?”

“It’s not who you are. Don’t blame God for—” and my look froze her. I was trying to control it, but the emotions of the trip were washing over me. The memories of what he said to me those years ago. His refusal to bend in the slightest. His constant hectoring about my sinful life, a hectoring that ended only by cutting him off.

“And what do you want me to tell my girlfriend, who’s downstairs.”

“You brought her here? What were you thinking? How could—?”

“She’s part of me. She’s my family now. Coming here is important to me so it’s important to her.”

“But—”

“Mom. You can meet her or not. It’s up to you. As to Dad, I’m truly sorry. If he cannot reconcile himself to who I am, if you cannot reconcile yourself to who I am in his final hours, there’s nothing I can say. You both understand I wouldn’t come where I’m not welcome, hard as it has been for me over these years, when I’ve heard nothing from you. I can see that I am not—”

My speech was interrupted as my father stirred and looked up.

“Beth. Is that you? I knew you’d get better. I knew you’d come home again.”

“Dad, I’m here because I was told you’ve had a change of heart, that you want to embrace me. For all of my faults. All of what you perceive are my faults.” I do not know how much of this he understood.

“I do, honey. I do. Please tell me you’re normal again. Grant a dying man’s final wish. I’ll forgive you for what you’ve done to yourself and your family and your God.”

It tore me up. It did. For the entire trip, I hoped what I was told was true, that he had a change of heart and was accepting me. That my mother was accepting me. Neither was true. As I rode on the train thinking about what I would do if my father...I was not sure what I would say if he asked—begged—me to deny who I am.

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