Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I don’t know how long I stood there with my worst nightmare playing out in front of me. Trying like hell not to let my mind go to the dark place inside of my body.
Where my father wasn’t there.
The whole duration of the plane ride I wanted to drink, but I fought against it. Craving liquor in my veins to numb the pain and make me forget what was happening. There was no running away from the inevitable. It’d follow me anywhere. Even down a dark alley.
My hands trembled at my sides.
My bones ached.
My soul cried.
How could this be happening?
Tears slid down my face, feeling my chest cave in around my heart.
As soon as we arrived at the hospital, Journey went to the waiting room, and I slipped in through the back. I wanted to see him alone with my own two eyes.
The nurse was kind enough to let me visit his private room during quiet hours. It was obvious she recognized who I was. Not the rock star, but his only son.
I hadn’t said a word since Journey told me the news and I heard the story with my own two ears.
Detective of the Decade, Dylan McGraw was caught in unexpected crossfire during a drug raid in Southport, North Carolina. He was shot three times in the chest, the last bullet hitting a main artery near his heart.
My old man had always been my hero in every sense of the word. Now my Superman was laid out, barely hanging on by a thread in a fuckin’ hospital room. Proving he wasn’t invincible. I hated the situation of my father more than Hell itself. I’d give everything I owned, including my career, to go back in time and beg for his forgiveness.
For his love.
For the father I still wanted over the fame and fortune.
It meant shit to me now.
Everything I was so determined to achieve, meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
All the anger, the resentment, the hatred was gone in the blink of an eye. My life was put into perspective. I needed my dad like a little boy needed his superhero.
He had to live, because I couldn’t live without him.
I’d never experienced pain and suffering quite like this. Words couldn’t describe how much seeing him hooked up to machines and tubes killed me inside. I felt as if I was dying right beside his still body.
The only movement was the rise and fall of his shot up chest.
I sat in the chair in the corner of his room just watching as if he’d disappear into thin air. I was there, but I wasn’t. Absent mindedly witnessing the nurses and doctors stepping in and out of the room.
Checking his vitals.
Telling me not to lose hope.
To pray.
I did.
With my hands folded in a prayer gesture, I leaned forward resting my forehead against them. I had never prayed so much in my life.
“Dear, God, please give me another chance to have a relationship wit’ my father.”
All I wanted was to hear my father’s voice again. Feel his touch. Experience his love.
Mend our relationship and start fresh.
I hadn’t moved for what felt like hours. Myself and my team arguing with the goddamn hospital to get the best doctor’s money could buy. No matter the fuckin’ cost, I’d pay for it in cash, right fuckin’ there if it would bring him back to me.
To us.
Our family.
I still hadn’t seen anyone. I knew Journey was holding down the fort to give me time with him without any interruptions. At some point during the day, my feet began moving toward his bed.
“Dad,” I wept, walking over to him.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I pulled up a chair and sat by the side of his bed. For the first time in over two decades, all I wanted to do was hug my pops. Hesitantly, I grabbed ahold of his cold hand in mine instead, not wanting to cause him anymore pain.
“I’m sorry,” I bawled, my emotions now pouring out of me.
I cried for the shit I’d put him through.
For the song I wrote him.
For the father I'd lost ’cuz my pride was more important.
I fell apart like a child yearning for his daddy to hold him.
In this hospital, in this room, next to his bed, I was merely a little boy pleading with God not to take his father away.
I sobbed.
My chest burned, and my throat was on fire. Hyperventilating to the point of pain. I sucked in air that wasn’t available for the taking.
Shattering into a pile of guilt and devastation.
“You can’t leave me,” I pleaded, loud and determined to make him hear me. “Please don’t leave me ... I’m begging you, please fight for your family. I can’t lose you ... Please, Pops ... please. God ... please don’t take him from me ...” I bellowed in the misery that lay beside me. “If you let him live, I promise to never drink again. I swear to you. Please ... just let him live.”
The hurt.
The agony.
The remorse.
It was all streaming out of me. My heart breaking, bleeding out for him to feel me. My body fiercely battled with itself in a way it never had before. Yearning to have him wrap his strong arms around me. Engulf me with his comfort, his warmth, his protection.
Reassuring me it was going to be alright. Everything was going to be alright.
It wasn’t.
It never would be again.
Not without him.
My tears rained over my father.
“I’m lost without you. I’ve been so fuckin’ lost without you. Please help me find my way ... please, Dad. I love you.”
“Mmm...” he groaned, and my head immediately popped up, hearing my old man’s voice.
“Dad?”
His eyes slowly fluttered open, and I was consumed with gratitude and appreciation for being able to see his eyes staring back at me.
My vision tunneled.
My heart soared.
Breathing new life into me.
“I haven’t...” he tried to speak, but it was too hard for him.
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m here. I’m here wit’ you now.”
He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he weakly grumbled, “You haven’t called me that in a long time, Cash. Feels damn good hearin’ it.”
His tranquil hazel eyes saw through me. Intensely observing his boy like he always had, showing me I was in fact, his entire world.
His only son.
I hugged him, I couldn’t help it. Embracing him for all the years I’d lost. All the memories I’d missed. All the I love yous. The I miss yous. The hurt and damage I’d caused.
He moaned in pain, however, it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around me.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, my voice breaking. “I don’t know why I wasted all these years bein’ so fuckin’ angry. I thought ... I don’t even know what I thought anymore. But you’re right. I need help. I can’t do this alone ... Please help me ... please.”
“Shhh ... it’s alright.” He grabbed my hand and laid it gently over his heart. “Feel my heart, Cash. It’s beatin’ for you. For your mother and sisters.”
I did.
It was such a steady beat. He used to do this when I was a kid. It was his way of comforting me and letting me know everything was going to be okay.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
“Shhh ... I’m here, and I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he softly spoke. “I’m sorry too. All I’ve ever wanted ...” He took a deep, painful breath. “Was what was best for you. I should have been supportive. There are so many things ... I wish I could go back and change.”