CREATIVE WRITING

Healing wounds

By Dania Qamar

I turned off the radio. I detested the song which, by the way, was about life. How can a couple of spoiled children (those singers, I mean) understand the meaning of life? What do they know about loss? What do they know about the excruciating pain that life throws you in?

I began stargazing.

My son is dead.

I am half paralyzed.

I weighed the words silently. They felt wrong and unnatural somehow as if I was comprehending the world upside down or the sun rising from the west. Tonight, more than ever, I was feeling lonely. I felt like I was the only man left on the face of the earth. I could hear the sound of my breathing and the chirping of the ants. I closed my eyes and recalled the fatal car crash that involved my son’s car. All I could remember from that moment were the hazy lights and the shrill noise of the ambulance siren surrounding me when I woke up; I could remember how I was filled with a sudden rush of emotions as my daughter’s shaky voice informed me of my son’s death.

It wasn’t that I did not love my daughter, but the loss of my favourite child, my son, felt unbearable. It felt as if life had lost its meaning. I avoided physical therapy despite my daughter’s constant pleas. For whom should I recover?

“Father? Father? Look what I found by the shore!” my daughter called from the hall. I was disinterested.

She rushed towards me. I gave her a side glance, trying to make my lack of interest obvious. She held a small, transparent box containing water and ... a starfish!

“Are you insane?! What do you want to do with a starfish?” I said

“Well, I was taking a stroll by the shore when I came across this starfish. Poor thing is hurt; see, one of its arms is cut” she said as she continued smiling at the starfish.

“Isn’t one injured person enough to care for that you brought along a starfish? What are you? A veteran nurse?” I spat back at her.

My daughter looked disgruntled, but not enough to affect her mood. She left the room, mumbling something about me being an old sport and not being of any help.

******************

The next morning, I woke up to find my daughter looking inside the tank. She was holding a hydrometer. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked “What are you observing?” She looked up at me and held my gaze, trying to decipher my expression.

She shrugged and then said, “Nothing! I was just checking if the temperature is perfect for the starfish to survive. Once it recovers, I’ll take it back to the shore. After all, everyone…..”

Joan never completed her sentence. I understood her hesitation. After having spent day after day living like this, I was now feeling guilty of putting her under so much stress. She had been unsuccessful at convincing me to go for physical therapy. Then I remembered the crash, and all the guilt and sympathy that was slowly building up inside me, washed away. I was never a cold-hearted man that Joan was so used to of now. Yet, I preferred to be like this ever since that horrendous crash. “I know what you’re trying to do, but my answer remains unchanged: No.”

******************

I forced my wheelchair out of the door. The air was fresh and crisp. The air smelled of freshly-watered earth and fragrant flowers. I felt rejuvenated and my body shivered in delight. It had been days since nature had embraced me like this. And for a few good minutes, my grief vanished and was replaced with delight. 

Joan appeared from behind the tree. She had a sneaky smile etched on her face. I began to move my wheelchair to return to my dark, gloomy room when Joan spoke, “Why are you denying yourself these simple pleasures? I might not have been your favorite, but I’m still your daughter! I think of you all day, hoping against hope that one of these days you will listen to me. Think about what I have to live through. It feels like you’ve died with him, too! Do you realize how hard this is for me? You may feel like you’re a burden, but you pushing me away like this won’t make me leave, because to me, you’re still my father.”

I thought about what she said. That feeling of guilt started creeping back into my heart.

She took a step towards me gingerly. “You know, when a starfish loses an arm, it’s able to re-grow it. That’s how nature works. It’s all about healing. You weren’t the only one who lost his son that night; he was my brother too. I am in grief too, same as you, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that life goes on. I know you’ve been withholding yourself for days. Let out those emotions; let them flow. Trust me, you’ll feel better,” Joan spoke softly. Her eyes filled with tears.

My face cracked into a smile as hot tears simultaneously rolled down my cheeks. Her words came at me like a horde of arrows. “I am sorry, Joan.” It was all I could say.

“All forgiven!” she said before she broke down and started sobbing. I reached out for her and locked her in a loving embrace. Today, I realized what Joan meant to me and how much I loved her.

******************

The Henry house has two patients who are recovering very quickly.  I have started going for my physical therapy, while the starfish has started to re-grow its arm. After it heals completely, Joan and I will go together to return the starfish to its home. It’s like what Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”