Sad Hug

SAD HUG1

This was the first time I had ever seen my own son for such a long time.  That probably seems strange, but he has been away since he was only a child.  Now I stumbled towards him.  I had planned to meet him on this crowded, noisy beach, where we would be surrounded by people and not embarrassed by a lonely silence.  I should have listened as the smells of the sea front wafted warnings to me.2

“Stay away!  Stay away!”3

The rocky cliffs stood like sentinels, sternly demanding that I did not enter.  However, I was enticed by the yearning of a father to see his son and I lunged excitedly down the narrow path and across the wind swirled sand towards my future.  The world howled around the figures near me.  The rain lashed at my face while I searched along the sandy beachfront until I saw him through the mist, which blurred my eyes in the frigid air.  At last, I could be rid of my sadness as I came face to face with the one I had needed for so long.4

After years of wondering about his father, my son is finally going to meet me.  Emotion overcomes rational thinking as I see him waiting, dutifully, in the sea mist, which seems to mystify the encounter even more.  There is a story book feeling as the spray spurts into the air like so many voices singing out,5

“Here I am, Dad!  Here I am Dad!”6

“Don’t look at the broken sea drops as they fall, my son, but watch the glitter of life drops in the expectant, frigid air.  They seem to cry out in joyous anticipation for our long awaited hug.”7

The son meets the father.  The father meets the son.  At last, they are to be one.  How I have anticipated the joy of our re-union.  After so long apart I had imagined that our meeting would be strained, but here, in the chilling air and the feeling of being out in the open, it seemed so natural to act as though we had known each other always.  I hurried forward.8

I awakened, suddenly, from my dream.  I fought with reality because I knew that I would never see my son.  My pillow was wet with the tears of my suffering as I wrung my hands in bitter remorse.  Am I really here?  Please let me go back to the comfort of my dream.  My son was gone, forever.  I had to face the truth as I battled in the lonely night and I fought against the memory of that sad day, so many years ago.9

Matthew had always wanted to go fishing along the rough road.  There was something magical about the call of the waves near the point where I sometimes went fishing with my dog.  I would spend long hours there; dreaming in the wet wind and waiting for that elusive fish that never seemed to come.  Fishermen don’t go fishing to catch fish.  If they wanted a feed, they would buy one.  Instead, they find a cosy nook where they can throw in a line and wait and dream of magnificent catches.  Among the many calling birds, thundering waves and crescendo of wonderful sea noises a man can lose himself to fantasy and hope.10

So I fished and Matthew wanted to come with me.  The path was a little treacherous but I would never have called it dangerous.  Early one morning, we prepared our gear and donned our backpacks for the journey.  We were both excited as we trod carefully along our path, looking at the waves crashing on the rocks below us as we yelled to each other in anticipation of the fish to come.11

"This is great, Dad!”  Matthew called expectantly across the noise and the excitement.12

Matthew’s foot slipped and he fell.  I watched, aghast, as he slid slowly towards the rim of the steep cliff towering over the long drop to the rocks beneath.13

There wasn’t much for him to hold onto as it was nearly all sand with a few tufts of weeds jutting out, but not enough to hold up a person sliding by.  I could see the desperation in his eyes, the terror in his hopeless efforts to stop the fall.  He looked up at me appealing for help.  In my frantic mind I could hear him call, “Now, I need you, Dad, come and help me.”14

“Hold on!”  I screamed, as I hopelessly lurched towards him.  I could find no hold, no place to go and my frantic search was fruitless as I knew I could not reach him.  He rolled on, over and over, screaming for me and needing the secure feeling of the love and care I had for him.  Silently and forever, he disappeared.  I could not see him then, but I knew that he fell down to the cruel rocks where the huge waves engulfed his crushed body and washed him away forever.15

Now, as I lie in the depths of my despair in my lonely bed, I fret for the son I have lost but I must remember that he will not came back to me.  Sad are my days, lonely is my sorrow and bitter is my struggle as I wait to go to join Matthew, to hold him again on the beach of my regret.  I cry out!  The nurse rushes in to comfort me and I struggle in my dismay.  Memories will always be there, my son, and the life drops will always fall, as I will always wait in sad anticipation for that hug.16

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