Clay Ross couldn’t feel any pain anymore. He was already numb from years of bottling up his feelings. It was easier to cope if he didn’t feel. His father was gone; he died three years ago in prison. Clay’s inner pain often manifested as anger whenever he thought about not having a father while growing up. He was deprived of a childhood worth remembering.

The resentment and anger harbored deep within would resurface whenever he visited his father’s gravesite. He rarely made the visit, though, for he was ashamed of his father’s past.  At the same time, he realized that he needed to better understand his father, even if all he had left was his grave.

Clay shuddered as the cold wind made contact with his skin. The chill penetrated into his bones. No one was at the cemetery as it was a grey, overcast day. Dried up brown leaves cluttered around his father’s gravesite. Clay kicked the tombstone with his worn-out sneakers, crumbling the brittle leaves.

“I will never forgive you, Dad, for what you did to our family,” Clay muttered under his breath.  He desperately wanted to hear his father respond, even though he knew he couldn’t.

The only answer he got in return was silence and the howling of the wind. He thought back to the happier times during his childhood when he was seven. Memories of playing baseball, swimming and riding bikes came back in little bursts. When he was young, his father was a hero to him. He looked up to the honest, hardworking man he thought his father was. That all changed, however, when his father became an addict. Painfully, he witnessed the transformation of an involved, caring father to an unresponsive, degenerate person.

“Dad, you robbed me, Mack, and Finn of a happy childhood. We had a happy family life. Why did you have to ruin everything? If you hadn’t become involved in drugs, alcohol, and dealing with the wrong kinds of people, you wouldn’t have abandoned your responsibilities as a father.”

Clay looked at the grave, and his eyes started welling up.
 
Wes Chase Ross
1968 – 1998
Beloved Son, Brother, Husband, and Father

“You made careless decisions that impacted our entire family. You loved your addiction more than you loved us.  For that, I can’t forgive you.”

Clay was determined not to cry. No, he would not let a single tear fall. He wasn’t going to get emotional over his father again.

“Crying doesn't do anything or get me anywhere,” Clay muttered, trying to convince himself of his words.

Still, there was only silence.

“Why won’t you give me answers as to why?” he yelled into the wind.

“He’s not going to answer,” a gentle voice said behind him. “He can’t.”

Clay swirled around to see Mack, his oldest brother, standing before him. Although Mack was only two years older than Clay, Mack was mature and responsible. He was the brave one after their father’s death, and he took on the responsibilities of caring for their mother and younger brothers. Mack, by default, became the man of the house. It was a role that his father was never able to fill in those last few years before his prison sentence.

“He’s dead, little brother. You know that,” Mack said as he placed his hand on Clay’s shoulder.

Clay edged away and looked down at his scuffed shoes. His father’s image was looming large in his mind. Suddenly, it was as if the voice of his brother sounded a thousand miles away as his father’s voice became louder in the background saying that everything would be okay and he would be there to protect them. When Clay was little, believed that. But now, he knew it was an unintentional lie.

“I keep wondering why Dad did what he did,” Clay muttered.

Mack sighed. “Why do you continue to torture yourself, Clay?  Think about it; Dad had an addition and was sick! Try to find peace in the situation.”

“I want him to know how angry I am at him. I never had a chance to talk to him before he died. And now all I have are distant memories of him,” Clay answered.

“Clay, you’re talking to a dead person in a grave,” Mack told him.

“You don’t understand,” Clay grumbled.

Mack sighed. He missed his little brother. Ever since their father died, Clay had not been the same. During the first few months after their dad’s death, Clay fell into a deep depression. Clay was nine when their dad became addicted to drugs, and he didn’t quite understand his father’s violent outbursts and irrational behavior. Clay took his father’s unexpected death the hardest. It took months for him to move beyond the grief. Mack thought that Clay had processed everything, but here Clay was standing in front of the grave yelling into the wind with pent up emotions.

“Anger isn’t going to fix anything.  And talking to a dead person isn’t going to change what happened in the past. Sometimes memories are all we have to hold on to,” Mack told him.

“I never got to say goodbye to dad and tell him how I felt. I’m still so mad at him. He shamed our family. He left us with without any support. What kind of father does that?” Clay demanded.

“I can’t answer that because I don’t know why myself. We had a great dad for a short time, and then he changed, and the father figure we needed disappeared,” Mack replied.

“I’ve been looking for answers for a long time…I need to know so I can move forward with my life.” Clay’s voice was raspy, and it broke at the last few words.

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,” Mack pointed out. “Dad’s grave is not going to give you the answers you are searching for.”

Clay held his head down low. Mack was always the more logical and mature one in the family. When their dad died, Mack took it in stride. Although he was upset about their dad’s death, he knew that Dad might meet death early in life. He thought the best thing he could do was to protect mom and his younger brothers. While Clay was grateful for Mack’s level-headedness, he didn’t feel Mack understood the anger and disappointment he felt towards their dad.

“There’s a time where you just need to move on from the tragedy and try to find the good things in life again. Accept the past because it can’t be altered,” Mack advised his brother. 

Clay turned away from Mack. All he wanted was to be alone and focus. He appreciated that Mack was trying to cheer him up, but he needed to finish what he came here to do and that was to seek closure with his father.

“You can’t keep blaming Dad. I know he made some bad decisions, but you can’t let his bad choices affect you forever. You have to find your own path through all of this. Write over his words and create your own story from the situation.” Mack encouraged him.

Clay wanted more than anything to remember the happy times that they had shared long ago, but every time he thought about his dad, the only thing he could remember was the day his father walked out on the family. Clay could still hear the door slam shut after their parents had a heated argument. He remembered his mother crying and his brothers comforting her, while he had just stood still, staring at the front door. That was his last image of his father – angry and crazed.

“Sometimes...in order to move forward…you need to dig deep to figure out what’s really eating into you. It’s not good to be stuck in the past and going backwards when you should be moving forward,” Mack pointed out.

Clay looked up at the gray sky. He watched the clouds move slowly eclipsing the sun. Some geese flew overhead. It was such a gloomy day, which was a reflection of his exact mood. He looked back down at his sneakers, which were dirty from kicking the leaves around it.

“Maybe it’s all pointless to try to figure it out. I guess I can’t find answers that aren’t there,” Clay responded in a trance like state.

Clay looked at his dad’s grave one last time, trying to tell himself that he wouldn’t let his Dad’s actions continue to affect him in negative way. His years without a father were the worst years of his life, and it was hard for him to accept that one person had such an impact on his outlook in life. He needed his father’s guidance –– but he was never present, and now he never would be.