ALL MY LUCKY STARS

Alexander

My father was still at the hospital regaining his strength when I left in the morning. We talked a little, and he was mostly grumpy without the alcohol. But I held his hand throughout the night, thinking it may be the last time I get to do so.

I already lost one parent. I couldn't be an orphan. I couldn't go through this again.

The doctor had told me he had a BAC of 0.32%. They said that with his already existing liver condition, this could have killed him. Though none of us knew he even had liver disease.

The doctor said it could take a while for a donor to show up, and she also emphasized that he would not be able to drink during the waiting period. Amy, Jack, and I are still trying to figure out how we're going to manage this.

A couple of days passed. My father was still at the hospital, and Amy was spending almost every night there. My dad, since I'd left, depended on her the most. I thought about what Amy had told me about how I haven't been around much. That was going to change today.

I cleaned myself up and took the subway back to the hospital. I brought Amy some coffee and a muffin.

"Thanks," she said.

"I can stay the night if you want to go home and sleep in a real bed," I told her.

"That would be so great, Alex. I've been wearing these clothes for three days," she chuckled, but I knew she was breaking apart.

I sat down next to my dad, holding his hand again. He had lost some weight so quickly, and his beer belly was starting to disappear. He woke up when I touched his hand.

"Hey, kiddo," he said weakly.

"Hi dad," I said, trying to hold back tears.

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this again."

"I'm sorry, too. You know this stuff will kill you, right? If you don't change."

"I know. This is the last time, I swear." Oh, how many times I've heard that before. "How are things?"

"Good, good. Amy went home."

"I can see that. Hey, do me a favor, will ya? Can you get me some ice chips? Amy brought me some flavor shit to make it taste better. Could ya put that in there?" I got up and went to get ice, and I poured in his non-alcoholic margarita mix. Of course.

"Dad, I just want to say—"

"No, no. We're not doing that." His lips were quivering, and this is the moment I finally saw my father as a person. Not someone who was in my way or made things hard for me. But someone who was hurt beyond repair, who could only find peace in his pain in the name of alcohol.

I had always known this, but it was different now. Seeing him like this made me sadder than he ever had over the years. I'd rather see him passed out on the floor than in a hospital bed from a seizure.

"Besides, if anyone's going to say a speech, it would be me." I walked over to give him his margarita ice chips, and sat down on the side of the bed. "Your mom would be so proud of you," he said. That's when I lost it. "Come here," he muttered–now crying himself– and we were two grown men sobbing and cuddling together on a hospital bed.

"Now, I know I haven't been a good father. And for that I'm sorry. Your mother was everything to me and, well, when I lost her... I lost myself, too. I should've tried harder for you kids. You're my greatest accomplishment." His hospital gown was soaked by tears and my head was starting to throb from crying so fucking hard.

"Alex, I want you to know that no matter what happens, I always loved you. I'm sorry I hit you... I'm sorry you had to raise your siblings. You deserved better from me."