The Roar of Harleys

Published by Heather Louise on

Dad had cancer. I had just graduated from college and was working for Jack Gibson Construction Company in their accounting department. Every day after work I would travel from Warren to Southside Hospital in Youngstown to sit with him. Seeing the strongest man I knew deteriorate to nothing was hard to watch. Dad’s skin was loose on his shrinking muscles, the color of his always-tanned skin was pale. His hair, usually long and unruly, was now gone from the chemotherapy. Before he started the chemo, he braided his hair into sections, cut it off, and gave me and my sisters each a braid. That might sound weird, but I have often taken that braid out to see if I could smell a trace of his Finesse shampoo. Other times, I would take it out to see if there was a follicle attached to any of the strands. I am not sure how I knew this, but I knew that this was the only way I could compare his DNA with mine.

We didn’t talk about much of anything on my visits. His voice was raspy from coughing up blood, and the more he talked, the harder he coughed. My heart ached as I watched him struggle for his breath. I wanted to be there for him, but I knew he hated anyone seeing him that way. Mostly, I just wanted to run out of the room and bawl. STOP YOUR CRYING. Dad said that to me a lot when I was growing up. STOP YOUR CRYING. Choke down your feelings. Don’t let them rise up. Be strong, girl. Many years and a lot of therapy later, I am finding out that these unspent emotions always find their way out, don’t they?

July 10, 1995, I walked into Dad’s hospital room and saw Stormie standing by his bedside. I hadn’t seen this woman since the night she chased me around with a knife, screaming lies at me. How DARE her show up now. I was angry. How did she know he was in the hospital? Who would have told her? I let her know that I came to visit Dad every day after work and that I would appreciate it if she was not there at that time.

July 12, she was there again. THAT. WAS. IT. This time, I asked her sweetly if I could talk to her in the hallway. She was hesitant, but she followed me. Then I thanked her. I thanked her for leaving me. I told her that God only knows how I would have turned out had she stayed in my life. I let her know that I was happy and better off without her. Then I told her I better never see her at the hospital again. She left. The next and the very last time I ever saw that woman was at the funeral home. She hovered around the back as I threw daggers at her with my eyes, wishing they were the real thing. She never made it up to the casket, or at least she didn’t try while I was standing there. She did not deserve to be there.

Glancing over at Dad lying there, I was wondering, “Whose idea was it to dress him in a PINK DRESS SHIRT?” That was so not his style. Ugh. At least he had on his black leather vest. Then I heard it. The quiet rumble in the distance. The sound grew louder and louder and louder. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. His boys were coming to pay their last respects. The roar of the Harley Davidson bikes rolled into the funeral home parking lot and, one by one, I watched them walk in. Men do cry, Dad.

I always had a feeling that Dad wouldn’t live a long life. I felt guilty for even thinking about it, but I always knew. Maybe this is one of the reasons I never felt close to him. Maybe.

Rest in Sweet Peace, Dad. I wish you were still around so that we could have a couple of beers and a real talk.

Categories: Truth or Lies

3 Comments

Phil C. · June 15, 2020 at 2:42 am

I find myself reading a few sentences, then going back… sisters? Start again, stop… 1995, where was I? You’re a good writer; waiting for the next chapter.

    Heather Louise · June 18, 2020 at 5:24 pm

    Haha…you were probably planning your wedding!

Linda · June 14, 2020 at 10:43 pm

This is brutally sad and amazingly beautiful! I know your Dad would be so proud of the woman you’ve become!

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