Page 25 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest

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Dear Cor,

Dad died yesterday. Cancer, of all things.

I knew it must take something huge to get rid of the big bad wolf.

I’m just empty. He told me not to come to the hospital that first day.

Mom and I ignored him. He just sat moodily in the corner, checking his phone, as if he had somewhere to be, something else to be dealing with.

Not his own health, surely. He practically kicked the oncologist out when he was going over treatment options.

He opted for none except pain control. I wasn’t entirely shocked.

He’s a stubborn jackass but instinct told me he wasn’t going to go for the more “humiliating” options of a port, chemo, radiation.

He even waved off the healer witches who had asked if he needed anything.

Polite but firm with an undertone of warning.

He warned Mom and I that we better not cry.

I rolled my eyes, feeling a little burn of shame.

It was unlikely I’d cry since I’d been mostly barren of a chunk of emotions for years.

He didn’t know. He could look at my bare chest and not see.

It was a weird two weeks. Every day I’d go to see him in the hospital.

I’m not even sure why. I hate him fundamentally as a person and he wasn’t a great dad.

He shouldn’t have to threaten me to get his way.

But it’s what a good son would do, right?

So I went. They were perfunctory at best, maybe a half hour.

He drilled me on my current case load, giving me looks if I couldn’t answer quickly enough or cite the proper regulation.

The only thing he hated was that I’d rather be a “dumb beat cop” for a while instead trying as hard as I could to make detective.

“It’s just what I like best,” was always my standard answer.

He just grumped. No hug at the end. Even on his death bed, he just gave a drugged-up glare when I kissed the top of his head.

Affection was weakness, strength was manly.

Mom was inconsolable. I read through those stages of grief I’d heard you talk about.

Denial was over with, and I certainly wasn’t angry at the cancer.

Then I hit bargaining and all those tears I held back for so long just flooded me.

I guess traditionally, it’s supposed to be that a person would do this or that to prevent the event from happening.

But I just started asking why. Why did he hurt me and browbeat me into doing his will?

Why would he hold my life and career hostage?

Why would he separate me from the two people I loved the most: you and your dad?

That’s not something a good parent or any parent would do.

A good son would have taken time off but I took more than a few weeks.

I think the guys took this as some sort of profound loss, a close duo cut down to one.

All I felt was free. All I wanted to do was to run to the coffee place, prostrate myself in front of you until you forgave what an idiot I was.

I think he always tried to make it out like I shouldn’t be near you ’cause I was too good for you or something but it was the exact opposite.

You and your dad were too loving and generous for the way you were treated.

I made a mistake, going to the witch. I’m out of his shadow now and I was too dumb to see it before. I have to talk to you, Cor. I need my heart back. Even if you never forgive me, I want to feel joy again. I need to live again.

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