A Man Named Dave by Dave Pelzer

he’s going to die? My dad is going to die? No way!” I shook my head in complete denial. “Can’t you give him a shot of something … or I thought there’s some kind of chemo treatment. If it’s money you need … just don’t let him die. Not now. Please!” I begged, as if he alone decided the fate of my father.
    “David, listen, chill for a sec. I don’t know, no one knows exactly how long your father has, but,” he emphasized in a strong tone, “the thing I do know for certain is this: your father is not going to make it. And there is nothing, nothing, that you, I, or anyone else can do about it. Come on, you’re not a kid. You understand these things. It’s a fact of life. Your father’s lived a full life, and now it’s his time.” Steve paused to collect his thoughts. Looking at him, I realized the immense strain he was under and how hard he was trying to help me. For a brief moment I wondered how many times a week he spent with others like me. I felt foolish and ashamed. “David,” he said, taking my hand, “I am sorry. I truly am.”
    My thoughts refused to come together. Whatever reserves of energy I had left suddenly disappeared. Finally, at the one time I needed to be in control, to be strong, I found myself completely, pitifully helpless. I had so many questions, but it took everything I had to form a single sentence. I simply stood in front of Steve like a zombie. I wanted to release everything and cry. A heartbeat later, I suppressed the urge. “Four months?” I asked incoherently. “You’re telling me my dad’s been here that long? How long has he been … like he is now? Why can’t he talk? Is he doped up? I mean, he acts like he doesn’t even recognize me. … I don’t, I just don’t understand,” I stammered. “I just wanna know. That’s all.”
    “Well,” Steve began, sliding a chair for me next to his, “as I was saying, your father checked in a few months ago. Since then his condition has rapidly deteriorated. The growth was primarily centered on the side of his neck, but has since spread to his throat. He is on medication, and under the circumstances I’m sure you can understand why. That is the reason he lacks discernment. If we take him off the ‘meds’, his understanding might improve, but the pain would be unbearable.”
    “So … he’ll never be able to say anything again? Ever… ?” I asked as my voice trailed off.
    “That is correct. Not any longer,” Steve replied, nodding his head.
    I sat on the edge of the wooden chair, rubbing my hands together, wondering what I could do to comfort Father. For once in my life, I was actually glad when I thought of Mother. With all her diabolical, scheming tactics, she would know how to deal with Father’s situation.
    Breaking the silence, Steve spoke up. “Ya know, when your dad first checked in, I don’t think he fully understood the seriousness of his condition. A great deal of patients are like that. They won’t allow themselves to be examined until it’s almost always too late. Call it embarrassment, ignorance, ego, whatever. But please know that we did all that we could for your father. It’s important for you to know that.”
    “Yeah, I understand. Thanks, but,” I probed, “was he able to speak when he first came in?”
    Steve barely nodded his head.
    “So, why didn’t he call anyone?” I inquired.
    “He did,” Steve frowned. “He must have, right after he was admitted, ’cause his other son, your brother Ronald, came over to visit. They spent a few days together. I guess he’s in the military, too.”
    Ronald? I gasped. Ronald, the oldest of my four siblings, who I hadn’t seen since my rescue in 1973, had finally escaped Mother’s wrath a few years ago by joining the army as soon as he turned eighteen years old. I hadn’t thought of Ron in years. “He was able to talk? I mean, talk to Ronald?”
    “Well, as much as he could. Your father was in a great deal of pain. It was soon after your brother’s visit that he lost his ability to speak,” Steve gently