One Glance

Chapter 9

"Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us." David Richo

---

 

Chapter Nine

What was this life? Why did it feel as though every movement required a trek through tar? Why did it feel as though he had the incredible weight of failure just resting on his chest, stopping him from breathing with ease?

Everything was black, both literally and figuratively.

A father had one responsibility in his life. Protect his child from harm.

Luke had only taken a few steps while holding Jamie. One trip sent his toddler son flying into the hard marble of the fireplace.

Luke knew that tripping was an accident. He had tripped over countless times since waking up in hospital. Tripping and falling was a hazard of blindness.

The utter despair and failure that Luke felt was that his instincts told him to stop his fall, to throw his arms out in front of him. How could he do that while holding a child?

What kind of father did that make him? That he would release his own son to stop his fall. Had Luke had another second to make a conscious decision he would have tried to turn his body, to allow Jamie to land on top of him. But his basic human instincts made him selfish.

The despair was isolating. Luke felt as though he was drowning while everyone around him was breathing easily.

Luke lay in his bed, staring at the canopy above him. Well, he assumed that there was still a canopy above him. He had been doing this day in and day out for days. It could be weeks. He was not keeping track.

Luke also knew that his days were numbered when it came to the patience of his family. How long would it be until they gave up on him?

It would be his own fault if they did. He was not permitting any of them to see him. Why would he want them to see the pathetic lump that he had become? Mary still tried to engage him using her nurturing ways, but Luke was simply not interested.

Luke heard his bedroom door open. He had no idea what time it was, so he assumed it was Mary with a tray of food. A few moments later he heard his drapes being pulled aside, one by one. He then heard the sound of water being poured into his basin.

"Who is there?" he called out.

"Your mother," snapped Helena. "Get up now. You need to shave. You look like a woolly mammoth."

"Mother?" repeated Luke. He had not spoken to his mother since he had been home, not since she had tried to visit him after his arrival.

He could hear the pain and frustration in his mother's voice. Luke did feel guilty but she could not understand.

"Luke, I am not going to ask you a third time. Get out of that bed!" Helena demanded.

Luke tried to obey her, but every movement was so tiring and draining. He heard the sound of his mother's skirt swishing across the floor as she hurried over to him.

Helena threw back his covers and seized Luke's legs in her arms. She pulled them out of the bed and helped him to sit up. Luke felt like a helpless child as she did so, but he did need to help.

Luke then felt his mother's hands on his cheeks. She was rubbing his cheekbones with her thumbs. It was actually soothing.

"Talk to me," she whispered. "Tell me what you are feeling."