Epilogue: Waking Up
I was dozing in the chair next to the hospital bed, a position that had become my new normal. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor was the only sound in the room.
“Dad?”
The word was slurred. Weak. It sounded like it had traveled from a great distance.
My eyes snapped open.
Carl was looking at me. His eyes were unfocused, confused, but open.
“Dad… why is it… so bright?”
I choked back a sob that had been stuck in my throat for two months. I grabbed his hand. “Hey, buddy. Welcome back.”
Lynn rushed in a moment later, and the room filled with tears and laughter.
The road to recovery was long. Carl had memory gaps. His coordination was shot; he’d never play sports again. He had to relearn how to tie his shoes. But he was alive. He was him.
Six months later, we sat on the back porch. The legal dust had settled. The six fathers were serving varying prison sentences. Their sons were scattered to the winds, their bright futures dimmed by the shadows of their own actions.
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