Chapter 1
Anthony held his head in his hands, slumped over in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. His mind raced. Just this morning, most everything was well in his life. He had no real complaints. He got out of bed at five-thirty am as usual. He took his usual hot shower, drank his coffee, and slipped on his jeans, company logo shirt, and his steel-toed work boots. At thirty-two, he still had his boyish looks, the tousled sandy hair, a tender smile, and the sparkle in his blue eyes.
How is it, when it is bad news, you can hear the ringing over every noise around you? It seemed like the whole factory lurched into slow motion. The line supervisor, Terry, answered the phone. Within moments, he was motioning Anthony with a sense of urgency which exemplified the seriousness of the situation. This call was his.
He couldn’t recall all of the conversation as he drove to the US Air Force Academy Hospital. He did remember ‘chest pains’ and ‘unconscious’. Rushing into the emergency department, he was informed his father had been taken to the Intensive Care Unit. Now, with other nameless faces, awaiting news of other nameless faces, he sits.
His body can’t decide if it wants to be tired, or anxious, or weary, or energetic. Finally he settles down long enough to fall into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened suddenly and inexplicably. Shaking off the small slice of amnesia, Anthony slowly orients himself to his surroundings. Running his fingers through his hair and rubbing his achy neck, he lets the room come into focus. Pulling his jacket from over him, he stands and stretches as he notices the first of sunlight breaking the darkness outside. A quick glance at his watch confirms it. It is five-thirty AM. “Damn body clock,” he mutters and ambles toward where he remembered the vending machine being located. “No hot shower this morning, no special roast coffee,” Anthony thinks. A tease of creamer and a hint of sugar, one sip, and he is ready to face the morning shift at the nurses desk.
“Any word on my father, John Samson?” he asks. The nurse at the desk clicks on her keyboard and picks up the phone. After a few quiet questions, she turns her attention back to Anthony. “Major Samson has been stabilized and is resting. You may go back if you like. He is in bed five.”
Stepping through those doors and into the sterile world of the Coronary Care Intensive Care Unit, Anthony’s mind was suddenly flooded with memories. They were memories thought to be dead and buried back in Shreveport, Louisiana. They were memories of standing at the doors, much like these, watching his father go back to see Mommy while he waited with ‘Grammy’. He remembered watching his father walk, almost marching, into that same cold sterile world. He remembered the grim expressions of the family. Anthony was seven years old and it was the last time he visited that world … until today.
Anthony finds ‘Major Samson’ amidst wires and tubes and beeping, blinking machines. He sits beside the bed and takes several long minutes to look at his father. He looks fragile, for the first time he has ever looked at him. He had always been the strongest man Anthony ever knew. Now, here he is, pale and broken, tied to the machines he has always hated. Ironic it seems to Anthony, as he remembers his father fussing about the ‘machines’ around her, when he would return home from visiting his wife those many years ago.
For a moment, he went back twenty-five years. Anthony stood silently by his father, as he heard a man in a suit talk about how good his mother was. He looked around and took in all he saw. There was so much he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand his Mommy was gone for good. He didn’t understand this time she wouldn’t be home after a day or so of ‘treatments’. He had no idea what this ‘cancer’ was the grown-ups were whispering about.
Mom looked as if she were sleeping, as she seemed to do more and more lately. Anthony would steal away and sit on her bed and read to her the books from which she so often read to him. Sometimes she would smile and squeeze his hand lightly, and other times, she would talk to him, low and slowly. Anthony remembered the words, even though he didn’t know exactly what they meant. She told him she was sorry she wouldn’t be there to see him grown. She told him to take care of his father. She told him he was ‘more’. He never understood what ‘more’ was. Now, for a reason he didn’t understand, he was telling Momma good-bye. He doesn’t know for sure why, but he knows this is different than when he has told her ‘good night’ in the past. Something here feels very different. He does remember his father got older that day.
Back in the ICU room, he takes his fathers hand. He is reminded of holding her hand as a child. He wished and waited, hoping dad would open his eyes and tell him everything was going to be okay. For a brief moment, at the same time, he is seven and thirty-two.
There are no words from his father. So, he waits and peers out into the morning. For the first time in his life Anthony is faced with the possibility of a future, alone. At fifty-seven years old, his father lingered between two worlds, the world of the known, and the world of the unknown tomorrow. Anthony desperately searched for a tether to bring him back to his side. There was no world outside this hospital room, and yet, out there was his future, his reason, his ‘more’, and it wasn’t going to wait for a sunny afternoon.
Staring out the window into the sky, Anthony found himself unconsciously turning the signet ring on his finger. Something out there waited for him. He could feel its closeness, even if he didn’t know just who or what it was. Somehow, inside, he knew he didn’t have long to wait.
