In My Father's Eyes (13 page)

“Emily. It’s Mathew.” The voice on the phone said.

“Mathew? Hey, happy Thanksg…” Emily started before Mathew cut her off.

“Emily. It’s Harold.” Mathew’s tone alarmed her.

“What?”

“It’s….” Mathew choked, “I’m sorry, Emily. Harold’s…he collapsed. He’s…oh, god, Emily.” Mathew sobbed.

Emily went cold, the room spinning away from her and she heard Mathew’s words from a distance.

“He’s at the hospital, Emily. I’m on my way there now. It’s serious, I’m afraid.”

“How? I don’t understand.” Emily moaned plaintively. “He was fine the other day. Mother spoke to him this morning. I just don’t understand.” Emily barked in frustration.

“He…He didn’t want us to tell you,” Mathew said softly. “It’s…he’s been ill for a long time, Emily. His absences from work. He was seeing his doctor. Only…only there was nothing they could do. There was just too much damage to his heart.”

“He can get a transplant!” Emily cried.

“No. He can’t.” Mathew explained. “Not with his drug history and his age. He doesn’t qualify for the transplant list.”

“That’s not fair!” Emily screamed. “He can’t…they can’t…”    

“It’s too late, anyway.” Mathew said. “He knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time.”

“He should have told me.” Emily moaned covering her face. “He should have.”

“I know,” Mathew commiserated.

“I need to see him. I have to see him.” Emily straightened, tears streaking down her face. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.” Emily informed.

“Be quick.” Mathew advised.

“Mom!” Emily shouted, hanging up the phone and dashing back into the dining room, her eyes frantic, hands wringing. “It’s Harold. He’s in the hospital. We have to go.”

“I’ll take you,” Colin rose.

“We’ll all go,” Tom said. Carol nodded, joining Tom as they went to gather their coats. Colin rounded the table and took Emily under his arm. Minutes later they left the house, the laughter and joy of their holiday meal long forgotten. Colin had ushered Sam into the house and filled a water bowl, scraping leftover turkey onto a plate for the dog.

Now he sat next to the distraught girl in the backseat of Tom’s SUV comforting her as best he could while they drew nearer and nearer to the hospital.

Chapter Thirteen

Tom let them out at the hospital entrance, driving away to find a parking space assuring them he would find them.

Braced by her mother on her left and Colin on her right, Emily was grateful for their presence as they approached the information desk. The young nurse behind the counter busy clicking away on her computer looked up at their arrival.

Colin and Emily stood a pace away as Carol took charge, her no nonsense tone alerting the nurse that she would brook no delay.

“We’re looking for a patient that was just brought in a few hours ago?” She informed the nurse.

“Name?” The brown haired hospital employee requested, already clicking through on her screen.

“Harold Villatieri.” Carol informed.

Hearing the name, Colin who had been holding Emily, rubbing her back, froze. He let her go and rushed to the desk.

“Harold Villatieri?” Colin grabbed Carol and turned her toward him. “Harold Villatieri?” He spun back to Emily. “Your boss’ name is Harold Villatieri?” With each repetition his voice rose, his face growing more distressed.

“Yes…why?” Emily stopped in front of him, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. “Do you know him?”

Colin didn’t answer, turned to the nurse. “Where is he? What room?” Colin demanded.

“Colin, what is it?” Carol asked, her hand landing on his arm. Colin shook her off as the nurse informed that the patient was in ICU, Room 428.

Speeding off toward the banks of elevators to the right and behind the information desk, Colin left Emily and her mother to follow behind. They caught up with him as he jabbed again at the elevator button, looking up at the indicator lights and the slow movement as the numbers lit up.

“Colin,” Emily said, growing alarmed. “Colin…for God’s sake. What is it?”

Colin spun around, looking down at her and her mother, their brows knitted with concern and worry.

“Harold Villatieri is my father.” Colin answered, spinning on his heel as the elevator doors banked open and he darted inside.

“What?” Emily cried, following him. “You’re that Colin? It can’t be.” She cried.

“I don’t understand,” Carol interjected. “What’s going on?”

Emily turned to her mother. “Harold was married. A long time ago. His wife died shortly after his son….his son, Colin…was born.”

“That’s right,” Colin said, as the bell dinged for the second floor.

“Connors?” Emily spoke. “Your mother’s maiden name was Connors?”

Colin nodded, still watching the indicator lights like a hawk its prey.

“Oh, God!” Emily cried. “Oh, no. This…this can’t be.” She staggered back into her mother’s arms and would have collapsed to the floor without her support.

“He…he wrote you,” Emily moaned. “He…he…oh, God, no.” Emily burst out of the elevator as the door opened on the fourth floor. This late in the evening, the wide corridors were dim and quiet, the faint beep and shush of medical machinery the only sound.

Looking right and left, she took off down the hall toward the sea of light around the nurses’ station, Colin beside her. Rounding the corner Emily caught sight of Mathew and Roland sitting on a pair of chairs in the hall, their heads together.

Mathew looked up as he heard their footsteps rushing toward him. He rose, his eyes shaded and dark, rimmed in red. Beside him, still in his seat, Roland cupped his head in his hands.

“No. No…no…no…no…” Emily cried, skidding to a stop in front of Mathew. But Mathew’s eyes told her the truth; a truth she couldn’t deny. Mathew enfolded her in his arms, his chin on the top of her head, his tears joining hers.

Colin gave the pair not a glance. He ran into the hospital room, throwing open the door on a middle-aged doctor busy writing notes on the chart as two orderlies attended to Harold; arranging the sheet covering him from head to toe as they transferred him to a gurney.

Colin froze, his eyes unable to move from the figure of the man underneath the white sheet; the shroud enclosing the man he’d come across country to find.

Small
. Was all he thought.
He’s so small.

“Are you a relative?” The doctor asked, hooking the clipboard on the end of the gurney and turning toward the young man in the doorway.

“Nngghh,” Colin choked, cleared his throat. “I’m…his son.”

“Colin?” The doctor asked, his eyes going soft. “I’m Doctor Tierrasante. Your father was my patient. I’m so very sorry for your loss.” The tall physician placed his hand on Colin’s shoulder, squeezing hard.

Colin stepped forward slowly. The doctor’s hand falling from his shoulder. At a look from the doctor, the two orderlies moved aside. Behind him, Emily entered; the sight of Colin, of Harold lying so still under the sterile white sheets bringing a gasp from her lips smothered by her hand.

Standing beside the bed, his eyes on the outline of his father, Colin shuddered.
I’m too late,
he thought.
Too late.
He wanted to rip off the sheet, to awaken the man beneath, to yell at him, to scream, to ask
Why?

Instead. He did nothing. It no longer mattered. He could no longer get the answers he needed; no longer know what it was that had driven his father away; why he’d left him alone all these years.

“Oh, Colin,” Emily said softly, standing beside him, her arm around his shoulders. “I…I didn’t know.”

Colin took a deep breath, his chest rising, filling with air. He wanted to float away; to disappear; to deny the evidence of his eyes; turn back the clock and get here in time. But he couldn’t. There are some things that hope and faith cannot change; some things that are beyond the human will to affect.

Breaking his eyes away from the empty form of his father, Colin turned to Emily, his hands going to her face, cupping them softly.

“Tell me about my father,” he begged quietly.

Tears welled anew in Emily’s eyes, her throat thick, she nodded slowly before pulling him into her arms.

Chapter Fourteen

A week later Colin stood with Emily in the cemetery. The freshly dug grave before them draped in bright green Astroturf; it’s shocking color in sharp contrast to the sickly green and brown grass of early December.

Beside them stood Carol and Tom. Mathew and Roland dressed in their black suits stood quietly side by side. Behind them, arrayed in white folding chairs sat members of Harold’s church, his friends from the several AA meetings he attended stood in a rough circle wearing an odd assortment of clothing though most had made their best effort on this occasion. Peggy Miller dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief as the dour minister intoned from the Book of Worship.

Colin’s hand held Emily’s as they listened, each in their own way, mourning the loss of the man so central to both their lives. For Colin the man had shaped his life through his failures, his mistakes, his absence. His passing would mean a lifetime of unanswered questions; of unfulfilled longings; of loss. Colin squeezed Emily’s hand, anchoring himself by her presence, assuring himself in her solidity.

Emily returned the pressure against her fingers and thought of Harold and the man beside her. In the week since, she had spent considerable time with Colin; helping him navigate the frustrating bureaucracy that accompanied death; going with him to Harold’s home. Staying by his side as Colin walked from room to room in a house that his father and mother had both known so well.

For her, the man being lowered into the ground next to the wife he had lost so long ago had offered her his friendship; had shared with her his life, his mistakes, his love; shown her that life meant more than the sum total of our failures, our losses. He’d taken a chance on her when she believed no one ever would; when her life had nearly spun out of control and showed her through his quiet belief that everyone mattered; that
she
mattered.

Today is our chance to say thank you for the way you brightened our lives, even though God granted you a too brief life. We will all feel cheated always that you were taken from us, and yet we must learn to be grateful that you came along at all. Only now you are gone do we truly appreciate what we are now without, and we want you to know that life without you is very, very difficult.

We have all despaired at our loss over the past week, and only the strength of the message you gave us through your years of giving has afforded us the strength to move forward.

Your greatest gift was your faith, and it was a gift you used wisely. This is what underpinned all your other wonderful attributes, and if we look to analyze what it was about you that had such a wide appeal, we find it in your deep understanding for what was really important in all our lives. Without your God-given grace we would be immersed in a greater ignorance.

Harold explained to me once that it was his suffering that made it possible for him to connect with the rejected, the outcast. And here we come to another truth about him. Harold remained throughout a very insecure person at heart, almost childlike in his desire to do good for others so he could release himself from deep feelings of unworthiness