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deepundergroundpoetry.com
I Remember the Night
The father placed his hands on her breast and whispered, “I remember the night.”
I thought that was a strange comment from a man under these circumstances. I wondered what he meant and then remembered something he said after his wife’s death the year before. I remained silent and tried to imagine his thoughts.
His face flushed red while thinking back to the night of her conception. He had tried to think only of her mother and what would give her pleasure. They finally found themselves gently moving in an unlikely unison, surprised at the power hidden within their bodies until that moment. They rode the ever-rising tide that became a frantic storm as lightning shot down their spines. During those final novice thrusts he imagined sperm and egg meeting to begin an ecstatic dance toward life.
He couldn’t have imagined the crooked-toothed little girl bubbling with personality that would result from that night’s union. He felt only gratitude to her mother for this immeasurable gift. Each year brought new joys and an ever increasing beauty. She thrived safe within her parents’ love.
These are strange thoughts for a funeral home visitation. As he viewed the body of his 21-year-old daughter, he thought of her mother who’d died the year before. He felt guilty for being thankful that she was gone and unable to experience this loss. They had loved passionately until the night before a car crash that killed her. Six months later, a failed love affair would thrust their daughter into mental anguish and addiction. The end of her came with an intentional overdoes.
Now he approached the deepest canyon of his life alone. He didn’t believe in an after-life. The body before him was a shell where his daughter once lived. His wife was mere ash in an urn.
His eyes cleared and he looked at the ceiling.
“I remember the night,” he said to me. I know what I must do. I’ll spread the ashes of my wife and daughter tomorrow and begin walking toward the sun in search of new love.”
I nodded my head thinking, these are strange thoughts for a funeral home.
I thought that was a strange comment from a man under these circumstances. I wondered what he meant and then remembered something he said after his wife’s death the year before. I remained silent and tried to imagine his thoughts.
His face flushed red while thinking back to the night of her conception. He had tried to think only of her mother and what would give her pleasure. They finally found themselves gently moving in an unlikely unison, surprised at the power hidden within their bodies until that moment. They rode the ever-rising tide that became a frantic storm as lightning shot down their spines. During those final novice thrusts he imagined sperm and egg meeting to begin an ecstatic dance toward life.
He couldn’t have imagined the crooked-toothed little girl bubbling with personality that would result from that night’s union. He felt only gratitude to her mother for this immeasurable gift. Each year brought new joys and an ever increasing beauty. She thrived safe within her parents’ love.
These are strange thoughts for a funeral home visitation. As he viewed the body of his 21-year-old daughter, he thought of her mother who’d died the year before. He felt guilty for being thankful that she was gone and unable to experience this loss. They had loved passionately until the night before a car crash that killed her. Six months later, a failed love affair would thrust their daughter into mental anguish and addiction. The end of her came with an intentional overdoes.
Now he approached the deepest canyon of his life alone. He didn’t believe in an after-life. The body before him was a shell where his daughter once lived. His wife was mere ash in an urn.
His eyes cleared and he looked at the ceiling.
“I remember the night,” he said to me. I know what I must do. I’ll spread the ashes of my wife and daughter tomorrow and begin walking toward the sun in search of new love.”
I nodded my head thinking, these are strange thoughts for a funeral home.
Published 10th Mar 2022
Author's Note
A grieving father remembers the night of his daughter's conception and decides to continue his pursuit of love.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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10th Mar 2022 1:31pm
10th Mar 2022 1:48pm
