When Beatle Met Lennon // h.s

Chapter Eight - Such a Colossal Effort

Eight - Such a Colossal Effort

Once my shift is over, I call a goodbye to Matthew and Lachie and head outside, getting ready to walk home to the Cove.  As I walk down the tiny coble stone street, I begin thinking of my father. My lost, wayward father.

The man who abandoned me when I was 10 and has yet to come home, if he ever will. It’s been nine years since I’ve seen my father. Back when he had first left, I used to make up stories about him.

In one story he was a secret king and the enemy had captured him, had taken him away from his little princess’ and away from Daniel. Away from his wife. His secret queen.  The stories like that were when I thought he’d be coming back. When I thought he wanted to come back.

Then there were the ones where he was an adventurer, a great explorer of the world. He could be in Italy, standing in a fountain with a beautiful Italian woman. And she would ask him if he had any children and he would reply; “Yes, and someday I will go home.”

But until that happens, until he comes back, they will dance under the stars in a fountain in Italy.

I sigh dejectedly. I have a feeling he’ll never be coming home. And his absence will leave our family in a constant state of grief, however small or big it may seem. It will always be there. Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.

Mum, Chelsea and Daniel may have come to this conclusion many years ago, may have moved on though still miss him, but I will always need him. I will always need my daddy. I just wish I knew if he was alive or not.

Instead of going to the Cove, I decide to visit Mum and my siblings. I go straight inside, expecting to find them all eating or in the lounge room. What I didn’t expect was to find the all huddled together in the kitchen, Mum in the middle with Chelsea sitting beside her, holding her hand and stroking her hair. Trying to comfort her even when she herself was so obviously in pain.

I looked to Daniel, tears beginning to prick the corners of my eyes, guessing what was happening, what had happened already. Hoping it hadn’t. That hope gets blown away when he sadly nods his head, answering my silent question. He opens his arms, tears streaming down his face as sobs begin to rack through my body, shaking my tiny frame.

Mum and Chelsea look up at me. Chelsea manages a weak, tearful smile while Mum just collapses completely against the table, pushing some paper towards me and holding onto Chelsea.

I reach with shaky hands towards the paper and lift it up. It’s a letter addressed to Mum, though it’s for all of us. I read the whole thing twice, going back over the one line that causes me to stumble over to a chair and collapse, Mum’s screams echoing in the house, our family grief closing in on all of us. For my father was now officially dead after having been gone for 9 years.

He had been hit by car in Porto Alegre, Brazil. Somehow they had found out we were his family and had contacted Mum.

I just sit there, not really seeing anything. The initial shock has worn off, although I still have tears streaming down my cheeks, but now I kind of just take everything in. I’ve missed my father for nine years and now I will miss him for nine more. And nine after that. And so on till I die.

 How will I survive this missing? How do others do it? People die all the time. Every day. Every hour. There are families all over the world staring at beds that are no longer slept in, shoes that are no longer worn. Families that no longer have to buy a particular cereal, a kind of shampoo. There are people everywhere standing in line at the movies, buying curtains, walking dogs, while inside, their hearts are ripping to shreds. For years. For their whole lives. I don't believe time heals. I don't want it to. If I heal, doesn't that mean I've accepted the world without him?

I stand up quickly. “I have to –” I wipe my eyes. “I have to go.” I say. I ignore Mum’s and Chelsea’s protests, and quickly hug Daniel. He understands. He knows I have to be somewhere else, anywhere else. I can’t take Mum’s grief. I have to go.

I push open the front door and run out onto the street. I contemplate going home to the Cove but decide against it, not willing to face Amy and Mikayla just yet. Instead I text Niall asking for directions to his and the boys house. He texts back giving me the directions and I tell him I’ll be there shortly.

I hail a taxi and give him the directions, and he speeds off into the traffic. He notices my tear stained cheeks and asks if I’m alright. I just nod not trusting my voice quite yet. He looks unconvinced but drops it and informs me we’ve arrived. I thank him and give him the money, leaving before he can hand me back my change.

I sprint up to the front door and knock. Not waiting for someone to come answer it I turn the handle and push it open. I step into the house and close the door, turning around and stumbling into someone.

I look up and see Harry, whose hard expression and stormy eyes soften when he notices my tears. He scoops me up into his arms and takes me into his room. I bury my face into his chest and finally let it all out.

We don’t say anything. He just holds me while I cry into his shirt, completely soaking it. Once I can’t cry any more than I already have, Harry lays back against the head board, while I lay my head on his chest, tangling our legs together.

He strokes my hair away from my face gently and plays with the ends, tugging on them lightly, and I smile sadly. I may not know this boy completely or wholly but I know that I can trust him, that I do trust him. I know that he’ll try to comfort me in whatever way he can whenever I’m sad. He’ll always try to be there for me whenever I need him, even if I don’t want him there, he will be.

And so I tell him about my wayward father. I start from the beginning. I tell him about how when I was little my dad was my best friend. How he taught me how to play the guitar, how he would comfort me whenever I was sad or scared.

Then I start telling him about how everything went downhill. How Dad left and Mum started becoming depressed. I tell him of the troubles I had trying to keep my problems to myself, instead of shouting them out to everyone. I tell him about the stories Chelsea and I made up for him, Daniel sometimes joining in.

I pause, dragging in a deep breath, feeling Harry’s hands running through my hair and up and down my arms, and I push myself closer to him.

 “All his knowledge is gone now. Everything he ever learned, or heard, or saw. His particular way of looking at everything, all his private intricate thoughts, his inconsequential secret musings – they’re gone too.” I whisper after a while. “Who wants to know that the person you love and need the most can just vanish forever?”

“That’s true but if you're someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time, aren't you also someone who knows the best thing can happen at any time too?” Harry says back, and I turn in his arms to face him.

It's such a colossal effort not to be haunted by what's lost, but to be enchanted by what was.

“Yes.” I whisper, looking into his vivid green eyes.

My father will die over and over again for the rest of my life. Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath. I will never stop grieving my dad because I will never stop loving him. That's just how it is. Grief and love are conjoined; you don't get one without the other. All I can do is love him, and love the world, emulate him by living with daring and spirit and joy.

So I will try and live as best as I can without him, without my dad. I will live life to the fullest because that’s what he’d want. But inside I'm falling.

“Yes, I suppose so.” I say, looking at Harry.

And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it's night, day breaks.