From REBLOG: …the father becomes the son. (more thoughts) August 14, 2015:
About a week ago, Cimmorene remembered where she was during my father’s near-death experience, and the weight of the sacrifice that I made to encourage my father to resume his life, so mine could begin.
Anyone who thinks the term “soulmate” is the stuff of cheesy Hollywood romantic fairytales and is nothing but fluff and shiny optimism, I must tell you, dear readers– in my experience, it’s a lie.
It’s true that Cimmorene and I remember a life together before mortality. We remember bonds that have been forged and reforged many times. But for all the light, wonderment, and immense awe, there is sorrow, darkness, and pain. There is anticipation of regret even before the blood, sweat, and tears began.
As usual, she remembered something I did not. She said that for that small moment, it was like I wasn’t there anymore. After much reflection, I remembered that I didn’t want to leave her side, but I had to. I had to. Much planning, work, and preparations were at risk.
It was a shock when I saw him. He was wandering around aimlessly, obviously not in his body. He was NOT supposed to be here.
“What are you doing here? You need to go back, and be my father, just as we planned!”
“I’m tired. I hurt. I don’t want to go back to a broken body.”
“But you need to go back! We agreed!”
If he died, I would have to start all over again. Everything we had planned on would have to be redone. My life would have a completely different foundation.
It was obvious that I was not going to persuade him by plans of the future. I would have to appeal to his here and now.
“What about your family now? Won’t they miss you?”
I didn’t know the ties of mortality yet. But even his present family ties didn’t seem to be enough. I needed something more.
“I… I will carry a part of that pain for you.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes… yes, I do.”
Cimmorene said we took time to ratify it with Father. I was reminded that it was a heavy sacrifice; that I might regret this decision. I said I was sure. I was told that my choice was right.
And so my father chose to live. We helped him back into his body and said our goodbyes for the moment being. Some time after he departed from us, then, Cimmy said, then, I wept.
I have only begun to realize the full weight of the pain, the suffering. But I know that chose this. I did it… because I had to. No matter how much I have been tempted to regret this, I know that I had to. But now, the empathy is visceral. So many days we compare notes on pain. It’s not exactly the same, of course, but much we need not explain to each other. We live it. Many days, he still wants to die, but I remind him he’s still needed. The time is not yet. It will come, most likely the moment I must begin to prepare for something more.