Fathers and Sons – Memoirs of an American Asshole

My son, my dear boy… I miss you so much. When your sister left for Heaven, we cried together and held each other so tight and cried out how unfair it was, tears running in streaks from our eyes.

You flat lined three times. In the hospital I could tell, you weren’t coming back. I asked, what have you done to yourself, boy? And there wasn’t any answer.

You said you saw your sister up there. Told me you ran and played in lush green fields and that your grandfather was there.

The sickness had gone too far. And brain function… Well, I knew you were never fully going to return. The last time was just before Christmas of 2017. You remember? The doctor said your kidney, liver and other functions were beginning to show failure.

It was then that I knew…I guess I just didn’t want to believe it. Kind of like you.

That Christmas — a month later…that was to be our last day together. If I had known that, when we hugged before you left, I wouldn’t have let you go.

You tried. You did try to tell me. But there was a denial in me that made getting your grandma’s phone call the following Valentine’s Day such a shock.

People do that, deny what they see and hear. It’s because we don’t want to let go. We don’t know how to.

I loved you, son. I loved you so much that seeing you in trouble almost from the beginning cut me deeply. I’m sorry I never helped, never knew what to do, how to be a father and a dad at the same time. Because of things that hurt me long before you came along, I could only pick one. So I went for being a dad.

But I fucked up so bad, I lost your mom and that hurt you even more than you already were, since nobody else ever understood you, not doctors, and never your mother. She didn’t try to. Her only goal was control.

Now, eight Christmases are to be passed, and I tell people “it gets easier” and just now realized that I’ve lied to them. I wonder, will they forgive me? Do good intentions or the lie I believed for myself count for anything?

Because right now the wounds are as open and fresh as they always were, as they always ARE. On Christmas, Valentine’s Day and the Fourth of July when your sister went away, those days are dark for me. They stab me and haunt me no end. And I lie to people about that.

Well, all these years since I saw you, I gotta ask, didn’t you know that I was the one who was supposed to go away? Parents are supposed to go first, and you both got it backwards.

I’m sorry. Both of you, I’m so very sorry. You should be here. Not me. Or here with me. Not gone.

And Junior, fathers and sons are infamous for being on different levels, failing to compromise and even to communicate, but I always loved you and I always will.

I just wish I had picked up the phone that day.

And I wish you were here.

First, I want to thank you for being here with me to share in this inspired moment. I’m grateful for you.

Next, I’m going to set up a video I found. I’m back on Twitter because I needed to get information about things that I can’t otherwise see. I’ve been good, because I’ve learned so much. I can control myself and I have no wish to be cruel with words. Sure, I’m still angered by republican subterfuge and their undermining of our government, but I think everyone should be. We’re talking current events, but also about the future. I see nothing they’ve done as trivial or honorable, not in the least.

There was a post I saw with a question: in Assassin’s Creed games, what is your favorite Father and Son?

I was quick to answer, and no, the question did not trigger me; there’s some recovery behind me after all.

Two years after the photograph above was taken, I was talking on the phone with my son, and he described a game he was playing that involved assassins and Egypt and pyramids. I had, impossibly, never heard of Assassin’s Creed games. I had been out of the gaming loop because I was on disability and gaming was beyond my means; I had an original Xbox with a few good games, but that was it. We still played Serious Sam co-op and it was still fun, but I couldn’t afford any newer consoles.

He wanted my help on some places he was stuck, and I worried because his mother’s place was infested with roaches, and those buggers love electronics. I knew a guy who bought a used PC and brought it to our group home and sure enough, there was the devil to pay getting rid of those roaches. I’m not scared of bugs, mind you; but having roaches is a nightmare. E.G. Marshall played one of his final roles in Creepshow, an anthology film with Adrienne Barbaeu and Leslie Nielsen. In Marshall’s segment he was a real phobic, a hermit terrified of germs, insects and just about anything else. He sees one roach, abusively demands an exterminator, and, well…I guess you can see where this goes.

I’m hardly that character, but my ex was doing nothing about her roaches and I didn’t want them in my new place. If you are a fan of hindsight and regret, you understand why I’ve often wished I could change that decision.

My son was the one who got me into gaming. We found common ground there, where his autism and other issues vanished, leaving a boy whom I could talk to and who could talk to me. We laughed together, cussed together, threw Playstation controllers on the floor, and we were happy.

I took the time to answer his questions about life, about how to treat people, about how God is real and loves us, and some of it got through, and some did not. That’s how it always is with fathers and sons.

Another thing that held me back was that when he said “assassins”, I confused it with the “Hitman” series, games I didn’t like. I passed up an opportunity to play one of the greatest games ever made with him for stupid reasons. He was still trying to beat that game when drugs took his life. After the first stimulus check came, I bought a refurbished PS4 and by then knew what Assassin’s Creed games were. The latest one was Odyssey, but I wanted to start with Origins because I didn’t know the series went all the way back to 2007. I thought Origins was the beginning and I should start there.

I quickly realized that I was playing the same game my son had been playing. Oddly, it begins with Bayek of Siwa, a Medjay, or protector, returning from a year abroad tracking and killing one of the men who killed his son, Khemu. The death of Khemu has turned Bayek into an infuriated killer. Bayek still holds to his Medjay principles and is an honorable man with kindness still a part of his soul, but a cult still exists, those who kill the innocent. He has vowed to kill them all. During the game, he must find stone circles and use them to sight constellations. He had visited all of these with his son, and used their quiet time to gently answer questions the boy had. These flashbacks of those conversations are in the following video.

How odd that this game touched me so much. The question on Twitter did not trigger me. I didn’t cry. I watched the video above before posting the link, and I did not cry. But that’s my son, and me, in simpler, happier times.

One of my favorite YouTube personalities was Simon Whistler. One day he remarked that something was “about as relatable as an Assassin’s Creed game”. And I’ve not watched his videos since. He was talking down, in a way I found insensitive, to fans of his who played the Creed games. And I thought, what’s more relatable than a father losing a son? He’s never experienced loss, or he wouldn’t have said such a nasty, condescending thing. He’s also never played Origins, because the story premise alone is plainly about loss, something everyone must experience. Death is a part of life. Unnatural death should not be. Yet it is.

Father and Son. A title. A relationship. A bond that is sacred and must be nurtured. It cannot be left unattended or it begins to wither. Sometimes….too often….it cannot survive.

I’m out of time for looking back and blaming myself. God will judge what I’ve done right, and what I’ve done wrong. And though a violent video game is seldom considered a tool for learning, I did learn from it. I was reminded of the importance of honor and living up to the concept as best I could. I was forced to face memories of better days, and of the worst days–the days my children died.

Perhaps seeing the tweet helped me to turn a corner. I will still cry, and always grieve for my children. Khemu asked his father if they would be together in the afterlife.

I have to believe I will see them in Heaven, where we will run on green grass and laugh together again.

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. (Revelation 21:4)