Angie Kinghorn

My father’s gift

 

This is a memoir piece for my online writers’ workshop, The Red Dress Club.  This week’s prompt is about forgiveness. Forgiving others, forgiving yourself. 

 

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The nights were the hardest, and the most precious.
During the day there was a constant low drone.  Nurses in the hallway, doctors muttering into dictaphones, somebody always taking vitals, visitors’ shoes clacking miles to nowhere on the hall tile.  Their footsteps beat various arrhythmias, echoing in my chest like strong bass. 
There were good nights and bad nights.  The bad ones still haunt me.  Sometimes I wake in a cold sweat, hearing the shrill beeping of an empty Dilaudid pump.
I found many things at my father’s deathbed.  Love.  Fear.  A strengthening of faith.  And forgiveness.
All I had to do was ask, and one night, as he was conscious, I knelt beside him and held his hand.  His beautiful hands, swollen, bruised.
“Daddy, can you forgive me?”  I asked.  His eyes snapped to mine in surprise.
“Forgive you?  For what?”
I cradled his hand between both of mine and thought of 30 years of sins against this man.  The white lies, the tantrums, spilled milk and iced tea.  The not-so-white lies.  Words thrown like daggers in anger.  All the times I could have done more, given more, loved more.  
“For everything.  I know I’ve done so many things in life that have hurt you, and I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry for anything and everything I’ve done to hurt you, and please, please, forgive me.”
He didn’t like for us to cry, but we were the only ones there, and suddenly my whole heart was there on the bed between us, beating, waiting, hoping that something in my life made up for all the inadvertent sleights and disappointments.  
“Of course I forgive you,” he said.  His eyes were clear, and it was like looking into a mirror.  I have my father’s eyes, and I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as they were in that moment.  They took in the whole of me, flawed, and they radiated unconditional love and acceptance.  He squeezed my hand, and then the drugs pulled him back under. 
Grace fell like rain that night, from a father to his daughter, bathing her in love.
I am forgiven, and each time my son or daughter threatens to run away or yells that they don’t love me anymore, I try to remember my father’s eyes.  Some day my father’s eyes will look down on my children as I tell them that they, too, are forgiven.  

Sanctuary

This is a fiction piece for my online writing group, The Red Dress Club.  This week’s prompt was to write piece about finding beauty in something ugly.  Oh, and to do so within a 600 word limit.

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The storm took her by surprise.  Rain slashed down the street in sheets, tearing through Juliet’s light windbreaker.  She swung her backpack off her shoulder and clutched it to her stomach, breaking into a run.  No way would she make it back to her dorm before her laptop and textbooks were drenched.  
There was only one place to go.  Tall and foreboding, the building cast a constant shadow over her daily scurry to and from class.  She made a habit of averting her eyes, but it was always there, on the periphery, waiting.  
The rough iron of the doorknob felt foreign in Juliet’s hand as she grasped it and pushed at the heavy door.  She shivered as she stepped into the silent stone narthex.  Rain slid down her legs in cold streaks and puddled on the floor.
She’d never been into St. Paul’s, but the faint scent of incense and the sound of the downpour thundering on the slate roof reminded her of hours spent on her knees in their little stone church back home.  Before she gave up.  
The sanctuary was empty, but for the lines of flickering votives to the left.  Unconsciously, she drifted over to the flames, casting her eyes over all the prayers represented in their flickering light.  One wick was low in its little glass, and as she watched, it grew dimmer, then, with no fanfare, went out.
Answered or unanswered, she wondered.  A life saved here, or called back home?  
The wet backpack was cold, and she forced her numb fingers to let it slip gently to the floor.  She knelt and thought of the crucifix back in her dorm room, hidden under the bed with a bottle of cheap vodka and a battered stuffed bear she’d had since babyhood.  
Suddenly she heard slow footsteps behind her.  The wood kneeler creaked, and with a heavy groan and crackling knees, a presence settled in beside her.  Glass clinked and she smelled sulfur from a match.  
And something else.  Dear God, what was that smell?  Cat piss and mildew?  A sigh turned into a rattling, chesty cough.  My God, she thought.  This is what I get for coming back.  A slow death by tuberculosis.
Another hacking cough, and Juliet couldn’t help but open her eyes.
She stared.
The figure next to her was wearing dark rags.   He had a thick wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and as he coughed again, she smelled wet dog.  She felt nauseated.
His fingers were thick and lined with dirt.  The callused skin gave way to ragged nails edged with black, and his hands shook as he placed the candle on the altar.
Another cough and he turned his head in her direction.
Juliet knew that face.  She saw it every day outside the diner just off campus, as she walked home.  He sat on the sidewalk with his guitar, and she’d passed him so many times she’d learned to ignore him, to not feel the pang at the open guitar case holding only loose change.
His eyes were closed in prayer, and as she watched in amazement, the big, dirty hands produced a delicate rosary and began weaving a practiced path along the worn beads.  
He was far away, close to his God, and now Juliet was the invisible one.  She couldn’t stop looking at his face, his hands, his lips as they whispered the same prayers she’d been taught and all but forgotten.
And then, tears began to slide down his face, streaking clean tracks through the grime.  She felt guilty for bearing witness to this, for being here when she only needed to get out of the rain.
Slowly, she pushed herself up and gathered her wet bag from the floor.  
At the door, she looked back.
The kneeler was empty. 


“Just wait until he’s sleepy and sneak up on him.”

I am dog sitting.  For a dog that is near and dear to my heart.  My mother’s dog, Baggins.  (No, she’s not a huge Lord of the Rings fan.  He was a rescue dog and the name came with him.)  


So, for my very first vlog, I bring you this.  No animals were harmed in the making of this video.  And Mark is a very good sport.



[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fT_G-iAyXY?rel=0&w=480&h=390]

Tequila Sunset

As evidenced by my last post, it’s been a rough week here in twinland.  We capped it all off with a really fun visit to the pediatrician that I’ll be telling you about as soon as I’m over my PTSD.  
So how does a parent cope?  
By making up a fabulous new drink, of course.  Here it is, and I hope it makes your Saturday night infinitely more fun.
Tequila Sunset
Ingredients:
  • Tequila (be classy, please; ditch the bottle with the sombrero and at least go for some Cuervo.  Or, if you really wanna play grown-up, some Patron will do nicely).
  • Crystal light (Sunrise Classic Orange flavor)
  • Tonic water
  • Lime or Meyer lemon
Optional: Orange liqueur (makes for a much sweeter drink, so skip it if you’re not into that).
Fill a really big glass with ice.  Pour tequila over ice (amount may vary depending on whether your children have been monsters or actual demons that day).  If you’re so inclined, add a dollop of orange liqueur. 
There may be very little room left in the glass.
Add Crystal light, then top with tonic (keeps it from being too sweet).
Stir. 
Drink.
Watch in amazement as your life becomes beautiful again.  Goggle at how quickly a household can go through a fifth of tequila.  Rest assured this is not a problem and will probably stop as soon as your kids leave for college.
Oops.  Now you’re thinking about college tuition.  Maybe you should mix another one.
What to read while you’re drinking your fabulous concoction?  Go to Elizabethtown and check out the synopsis of the upcoming new WB series, Super Moms.  Super Moms is the brain child of my friend Elizabeth, aka “The Hammer.”  Rumor has it that there’s massive pre-show buzz on the blog underground.  I’ve been cast as Lady America, and Law Momma will be playing Justice.  Go check it out.

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