Scepter of Grace..

My Grandfather lies in a hospital bed in the CCU tonight, tube down his throat, wires plugged in attached to various body parts, iv's dripping potions of various sorts, naval cut sternum to pelvic area, freshly sown up - having... having? Almost died? Yes, close - very close. Family members shed tears of fear and frustration over what they are limited in doing.. physically, emotionally, financially and perhaps even spiritually. People rush to the emergency room to? To what? To be near in case of death.. in case despair must show its ugly face.. in case the facade of security, peace, family is cracked and life rushes in with its pains and agony to tether you in its grips unwilling to let go, move on, just leave.. unwilling.. life? No, us. Panicked we run to places which render us useless, in our limited skills, lacking knowledge and binding emotions. Why? Why? Closeness? Control? To feel the flames of the heart of agony warm our faces with fresh tears?

He may lay dying.. may.. may.. may.. and I? Emotionless. I went though not for him, but another. I went for her, the daughter who wept with fear, who cried as the agonizing thoughts of what may be captured her mind and engaged her heart with overwhelming sorrow. The daughter, better than I the "grand" one.. in her grace, in her mercy.. the scepter of forgiveness offered to him - a beacon beaming in beauty - with love, with magic, with life - things which I do not possess - not yet.. not for him.

I can see him in his fragile state, ashen, small, weak. But I - I remember the rain, the night, the lights in the driveway.. the drunken steps, stumbling words.. attempts at harm.. penetration - I remember.. SEARED - I will never forget. I remember walls, plaster holes, phones ripped violently from them, holes punched furiously into them - chalky dust testaments to rage, to hate.. to a past he cannot escape.. one given to him, created for him, but a future he formed of his own.. choices he made.. choices he continued to make -- until this morning and the ashy pallor of sickness, of death became the cloak he wore.

And she.. no they.. offer grace, choosing to forgive (?) choosing to -- call father this one deserving in only the most limited of ways. And the "grand" one.. me - Ambivalence.. Not even able to muster up anger.. just.. just.. only just. And the only sorrow I feel? That my ambivalence makes me a terrible person in the eyes of others - So I keep it a secret from all that I know, but the one.. RK - who loves me despite, who knows and understands me in ways that no one else does. He whom I love with my whole heart - for him I sorrow.. what could have been.. what could be..

But to the man, that man.. I lack.

I wish to see the smallness that this has made of him, but I only see the night, the rage, the want of sexual gratification so badly that one would corrupt an innocent to obtain it. I wish him no ill for these transgressions.. for this beastliness.. but neither can I muster the wish for good. I only feel nothingness.. nothing.. empty, void.. karma.