Of all the times I have been broken and left to heal myself, nothing has caused me so much pain, than to have to wait to be shredded into pieces as I have been for quite some time now. Nothing has shrouded me with numbness like the last few weeks have done. Every waking moment is tainted with the knowledge that at some point the phone will ring with even more news, which could be either good, to bring a lifeless smile to my lips, or equally as powerful and yet soul destroying. I cannot live with that right now. The uncertainty is crumbling me.

Images swim through my mind, a false sense of agony courses my veins which I know is not mine. I am not the one in pain, I am not he who lies in a hospital bed fighting for every breath that seem to be given with a borrowed lifeline attached to every part of his being, both inside and out. I think of the ones who have had to witness the true illustration of that agony, those who wait to hear the fate of he who we love so much.

I hear the voice of my Father - the being who I once thought was made of iron itself, the one who I lived in fear of for so many years and I have to live with the realisation that, for most of my life I have misjudged him, cursed him for his faults and wrong-doings, when really he is as human as you and I. I hear the pain in that voice, the tears that he has been crying for weeks, publicly or in the secrecy of his own questioning mind. It breaks me.

I think back to the first time I ever saw him cry. I was fourteen. He was a man with a temper and an equally sharp tongue�?Yet he was also a man who suffered from depression, a sense of loss and inferiority and self resentment for the mistakes he has made which cannot be undone. It was a sunny day, the sky was blue and unusually clear and yet here I was sat across the patio table from my Father as he wept openly. He wouldn’t make eye contact, he looked away and focused on my step-Mum who held his hand. He seemed ashamed to cry and I sat, frozen and unsure of what to do or say to make it better. I was capable of doing something and yet totally incapable because I didn’t possess the capacity to make his dreams come true.

His tears trickled ever so gently down his reddened cheeks. I glanced at him and then back at the paper on which I was doodling. He tried to fight those tears - each one holding a question - “why?�?“how do I fight this?�?“why can‘t I be different?�?“what do I do with my life?�? I was fourteen. I wanted to cry. I hoped, more than anything, that I’d never see my Father cry again�?/P>

But I know he cries, just like I do. Only, now I’ve the unwanted ability to connect the two when I hear his voice - the pain in his eyes and the unmistakeable heartbreak in his words. The feeling haunts me. I want to be there, to put my arms around him and tell him that I’m still his little girl and how much I love him, how much I’ll always love him because he’s my Dad. He’s the reason why I exist, he’s the colour of my hair, the depth of my eyes, my blood, my body, my heart and soul. Without him, I wouldn’t be me.

I cling onto memories like threads of unravelling fabric. With gentle hands I knot them with a glistening strand of hope. After all, this is the only thing I have to hold onto. I can feel them wrapping round my knuckles as I hold too tightly, yet I refuse to let go. I remember the endless times as a child with my Grandfather, the man who would no longer be recognisable to me, yet when I think of those days I know I can smile wholeheartedly. Just me�?And him. No one else. But, somewhere inside of me I feel the overwhelming need to weep because I have the knowledge that there will never be days like that again, regardless of the outcome of the days, nights or weeks to come. The memories are cutting into my heart but I do not care anymore. If I cannot hope and I cannot say a silent prayer, then what do I have left to give him? I cannot give him life and I cannot give him death, so I owe him hope and love.

My thoughts sleep beside him in that bed, my dreams are silently of him even though I am unaware of it and I call his name with every single breath he takes.

I will soon allow the numbness to comfort me, though, at this moment I must stay strong, fight the outside world and smile to those who are unknowing of my pain. Still, until my heart is certain and my soul at peace, my Father’s voice and heartbroken expression will remain as close to me as my shadow.

When will this end?

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I said I was going to disappear for a while but I find it outside my capability to completely leave this site, even if only temporarily... This, I guess you could say, is everything that's in my heart right now and I dont know who else I can share it with. I know this place is for poetry and no one here really needs to know anything about me, or indeed my life... But I'm simply at a loss. I'm finding it so difficult to act normal and yet at the same time, it's so easy... For those around me, I am me.. But at work, or any other place which requires something of me which is more than just me, I cannot focus and I just dont want to be here right now. I feel the need to run away, just for a while, to escape and let everything just be, without me in it.

Please forgive me for opening up so much of myself on here.

Fluff x