The Sun Never Sets

‘Papa, look at the sunset. It’s so pretty’, I remember saying as I wrapped my hand around his finger and looked up excitedly.

He looked at me and chuckled as he sat on the grass and placed me on his lap gently. ‘The sun doesn’t set, silly. It’s the Earth that goes around it’, he said quietly as his hand traced a circle in the air.

‘Then why does everyone say that?’, I asked him as I looked at his face with wide eyes. ‘I’m afraid that I can’t answer that, Avi. The world is often disappointing that way’, he said as he took in a deep breath, gazing in the distance with a strange, faraway look in his eyes, which as I slowly noticed, became glassy and his lower lip began to quiver slightly as he tightened his grip around me.

That was the first time that I saw my father like he really was. When he wasn’t pretending to be tough for everyone or when he wasn’t trying to assure everyone that things would turn out just fine if they believed in themselves, for that day, he let sunlight hug his face in a way that highlighted the slight trace of a stubble along his jawline, which was unkempt in a way that was so unlike him. I watched him raise his chin slightly as his eyes met the sun and closed, letting streams of tears run down his cheeks, glistening in the soft pink hue of the sun. Strangely, it reminded me of my mother’s favorite pearl necklace. My mother, who was in the hospital. My mother, who passed away that very day after a couple of hours of this trip, back when I was just five years old. I remember feeling scared at watching my father like that, lost and sad. I was confused and not knowing what to do, did the thing that came most naturally to five-year-old me, and wrapped my arms around him tightly.

The ride back home was normal like any other day. We sang my favorite song and laughed together. It was in the moments of silence that I felt him grow faintly detached and distant. We had been doing this for well over a month now when after visiting my mother in the hospital, we would take the long route wherein was this odd, grassy spot where the sunrays stuck at a perfect angle which illuminated the little clearing in the most beautiful way. I was told that fairies built it especially for us, which only added to its charm and made this my favorite spot on the entire planet. We would always stop and sit there for a while, sometimes talking and sometimes playing.

My mother suffered from cancer and was a terminal patient. We had known for two years, but by the time she could identify the symptoms and go to the doctor, it had gotten well out of hand. Back then, big and grave words like ‘cancer’ and ‘terminal’ meant nothing to me and I was mostly caught up in a world of my own, where people didn’t die because their bodies suddenly turned against them, where everyone was happy and lived alongside unicorns- where the sun actually set and where everyone lived the life they dreamed of. My memories of my mom are mostly of her in a hospital bed, beaming at me and playing with me. I would often fall asleep in her arms after getting tired of playing with her and we would sleep undisturbed, just like that.

Soon enough, I was told that I couldn’t do that anymore because she was apparently too weak. That made me very sad but papa promised me to take me to a special place, built by fairies on the way back home after visiting hours, on all the days that were to follow. As much as I loved that place, I knew that deep down, I would always prefer to be with mom. As the visits continued, I felt her unmatched shine slowly leave her eyes as she had her head shaved and grew paler with each passing day. She was her worst self on the day of what was to be my very last visit, when she barely managed to smile at me, tousled my hair with trembling, bony hands and kissed my forehead with lips that had almost completely left color. Papa made me stay with her for a little longer than usual, as I placed a drawing that I had made for her on the bedside table and watched as she fell asleep right in the middle of listening to me talk to her. I heard the doctor tell papa that she still had a week before... something and that we should start preparing ourselves right about then. I didn’t really understand what that meant. It would be somewhat later in my life that I realized that papa had somehow known that that was the day. He could tell.

I remembered once when she told him to sell her pearl necklace as an aid in paying for the bills; she had her signature, firm look on her face to which my father simply nodded, after a huge gulp.

When I was ten years old, I noticed a part of something sparkly hanging out of the pocket of his pants, only to realize that it was the same necklace that he couldn’t bring himself to sell and since then, had been carrying with him everywhere he went. Sometimes, I would find him in his room, all alone, tapping his hands on the chair to the tune of the song playing in the background- the very same song they shared their first dance to- with tears falling down his cheeks as he looked in the distance, out of the window while holding on to the necklace like dear life in another hand.

He was a very brave man; the bravest, in fact, I had ever known, just like I heard mom had been. Sometimes, I would think that he missed her a bit too much and would let the emotions to get to him. He had always been my role model and played the role of both, my mom and dad, and I often found myself thinking that I could never love anyone nearly as much as I loved him. I was indeed, a proud son.

We had never visited that special place after my mother’s demise for we never felt the need to do so.

The memory of his face was etched in my mind as I slowly regained consciousness ans opened my eyes to a sight which was strikingly similar, yet tremendously unlike as the day of my mother’s demise- his face glowed in the soft, pink hue of sunrays that poured in through the window of the passenger’s side of the car. However, instead of tears, it was blood that streaked down his face- his mouth open in a twisted and silent scream as I came to terms with how a truck had swerved into the car out of nowhere and papa’s head struck the dashboard as the airbag on his side failed to deploy.

That was the day I had finally convinced him to visit our special place again and offered to drive, having recently turned eighteen. My gaze slowly traveled down to his hand, with the necklace twisted around his palm as the haunting lyrics of ‘their song’ that emerged out of the car’s speakers filled my ears and threatened to consume my mind. I realized that my mouth was open and my throat was sore which meant that I had probably been screaming and apprehended the inability to shut my eyes. I had been screaming because that day I lost my family and my mind- all over again.