My_Losing_Season__Final_Words_to_My_Dad

Mr. McGrath 1/11/13 My Final Words I did not know how to feel when I got the call. “Your dad has had a stroke,” Still echoed through my mind as if my mom told me a minute ago. My dad and I’s history isn’t one to be idolized. I lived in constant fear of him being displeased or angry with me. He would beat me any time I embarrassed him or myself while I was in his presence. I lived with one goal in mind, to prove my worth to my always unpleased father. Every time I would felt like I took a step closer to accomplishing my goal, I moved three steps back. He made my life a living hell. He moved us from military base to military base, breaking his promise every year that we would not move again. This affected every aspect of my life, except, luckily, my game. I was to go and visit my dad at the hospital near where my parents still lived. Why should I go comfort him in his final hours when he made every instance of my life painful and disappointing' A week passed until I decided that I would make the trip to see him. In the end he was my dad, and maybe, just maybe he had changed just the slightest bit in the last 10 years. When I arrived at the hospital I saw my family in front of my dad lying in the bed. As I walked towards the bed, I thought as to what I would say, do, or even think when I saw him, only to find him sleeping. I sat down and caught up with my mom for a couple hours. I forgot how much I missed my mother. She was the only woman in my life that was always supportive and on my side. I found out that she would always bring me up in her and my father’s conversations, but, he always shrugged them off with grunts and malicious comments about my imperfect personality. To attend a school like The Citadel and become a writer was a moral sin to my father; all he knew was the military. After my mom and I finished talking, I bantered a little more with my other siblings in a surprisingly lively conversation with the entire family (Excluding my brother, may he rest in peace.) I left after three hours of catch-up and no sign of life from the colonel. I stayed for a few days, chatting with my dad about mostly his life and adventures. My personal thoughts and feelings never came up, well; I didn’t let them come up. I was still afraid of what he would say or how he would act. Our conversations only lasted for as long as he could stay awake. I felt that I should write our chats in a notebook, I didn’t have a real reason but I guess the reporter in me felt that it should take notes to remember these discussions. My father’s attitude wasn’t his usual angry marine personality, but it wasn’t an angel talking either. After I left I continued to talk to him over the phone for another couple days. I also pondered the idea of discussing my feelings towards my dad, knowing that he was growing weaker by the word. I finally decided on that I would become the man my father never was to me, and confess my feelings to him. It was May 9th, around nine o clock after I had drank my coffee, I called my dad’s hospital room and had my mother put him on. I asked him why he was always so cruel to me; why he could treat his son the way he did for years. He responded in a course voice, “to make you a better person than me.” “But to abuse me the way you did for all that time' How can that be justified'” He said, “I spent my life in the marines, that was an my job, and I turned out successful. That is the only thing I ever wanted for you Pat.” I could barely make out what he was saying with his broken speech. “Dad, you made my life a terrible one to live. All I ever wanted to do was make you think I was not completely worthless, that I mattered.” “You have son, you have. I have always loved you, even if you haven’t thought so.” That was the last phrase I heard from my father, Donald Conroy. He passed away later that day due to difficulties from his stroke. I forgave my father that day, even though my life will forever be haunted with nightmares from my childhood.