It’s My Turn To Chase The Monsters Away

The title for this section is a line from the hit song “Monsters” by James Blunt.  I’m going to ask you to watch the official video for the song on YouTube.  Here’s the link.

The song hit me like an out-of-control freight train.  I knew nothing about the song when I stumbled across it last week. I barely knew who James Blunt is, but I liked the title and thought, why not?

The song is Blunt’s goodbye message to his father, who was dying from a kidney illness, and if you do watch the video, it will rip your heart out.  Most of us can, on some level, relate to the message in those haunting lyrics.

Here is my story.

Most of you know my father died of a massive heart attack in January, 1969. I was twenty at the time, home from college for the weekend.  One moment we were watching The Tonight Show together, the next he rose, said he wasn’t feeling well, walked into the bathroom, and collapsed.  He was dead within ten minutes.

Most of you also know that his death was one of the major events of my life, shaping my actions for decades to follow.  What you don’t know is what happened prior to his death.

Dad had a smaller heart attack in November, 1968, three months prior to his death.  He spent a day in the hospital, at which time my mother called me at college to tell me. I was home the next day, a Friday, and Dad had been released from the hospital and sent home.  When I arrived home, I naturally went straight to his bedroom, only to find him not there.  My unspoken question, etched across my face, was answered by mother.  “He’s in your bedroom, Bill.  It’s a shorter walk to the bathroom for him if he rests there.”

The door to my bedroom was closed; I eased it open, as carefully as possible.  There, in my bed, under the quilt I knew so well, my dad was curled into the fetal position, making him look shrunken, so frail, so goddamn frail.  He was asleep, the drugs giving him the rest he needed.  I stood there for a moment, maybe five, tears streaming down my cheeks, such a cliché, but true, this man, bigger than life, the rock upon which I had leaned for twenty years, looked, suddenly, fragile, as though a strong breeze might tear him into pieces, like blowing on a dead dandelion, the thistles blown to the wind.  The irony of that setting, despite the sadness, was not lost on me, the strong, unbreakable spine of our family was curled in his son’s bed, helpless, while Little Billy watched him sleep.

I finally willed my legs forward, standing over him, like he had done for me for twenty years, rustling my hair for so many nights, telling me to sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite, and me knowing, as a child, that I was safe as long as my dad was watching over me.

I whispered, “It’s okay, Dad, sleep tight.  I’ll stand guard tonight.”

I tell you true, friends.  Cherish the time you have with loved ones.  Tell them you love them, like you mean it, look in their eyes and make them feel it, and don’t you dare take one damned moment for granted.  We all die, we all know that, death is there to keep us honest, words of a long-dead songwriter, and constantly remind us that we, the living, are free.

But that freedom has a shelf life and, words left unspoken when that shelf life comes due, are blown in the wind.

It was my turn, that night, to keep the monsters away from my dad, and I did; I have no idea how many times I told him I loved him, while he slept.  He didn’t hear me, of course, but it was crucial that I did so.

I don’t know how many times, since his death, that I wish I could have told him how much I loved him, one last time.

But he knew!

This is all we have, my friends. This is all that really matters. Our interaction with others, our sacrifice for others, our love of others, our willingness to take a chance, be vulnerable, open ourselves up and be raw, with others, because without others, what have we?