Part II; Chapter 4
Summer 2025
With Junia and Abe out of the house, I had hoped Dad would be more inclined to start moving around the house. Though he did seem to be making it out of bed more and more frequently, his ventures outside the bedroom still remained infrequent at best, leaving me feeling alone in the large house most days. I seemed to feel the absence of my siblings overwhelmingly at times, while dad didn’t even seem to know they were gone. Days had passed without either of them coming to check on him or say goodnight, and he did not ask why.
Life went on, though; I went to school and work, soccer practice once a week as agreed. When I was home, I spent my time working on taking control of the house again, putting it back in order, and researching depression. It was obvious Dad was suffering, the effort of daily life pulling him farther back each time he moved forward. I continued to bring him his meals, attempting to engage him and entice him to join me outside; some days he was blissfully responsive and accommodating, and other times he would go a solid 72 hours without speaking to me.
On the first day of the third week my siblings were with my aunt and uncle, I had finally cleaned my way through the entire house, and arrived at Dad’s door with cleaning supplies in hand. I took a deep breath and charged into the room; without concern for Dad’s comfort, I threw back the curtains and yanked the window open. Fresh air and sunlight flooded the room, the sounds of early-morning summer activity echoing against the walls.
Various pieces of muffled profanity came from the pile of blankets on the bed, the mound rising and falling as Dad tried to dig himself out of the tangled mess. I allowed him to sort his way out as I gathered his dirty laundry into a basket. “What the hell, Shepherd?!”
“It’s cleaning day,” I announced. “That includes you. Go get in the shower so I can change your sheets,”
For a moment, Dad began fussing like a toddler–he threw himself back under the covers, grumbling. I ignored him, instead choosing to keep cleaning around him. After I had picked up all the clothes and trash from the floor, I dusted his surfaces. Though I had hoped he would have gotten up on his own by the time I had finished, Dad was still buried when I set down my cleaning supplies. With a sigh, I began peeling the covers off of him. He thankfully didn’t put up fight as I coaxed him to the bathroom and instructed him to brush his teeth.
He managed to finally get into the shower on his own and when he emerged from the bathroom he was clean-shaven. Though he had lost quite a bit of weight, he once again resembled the man I called my father. I couldn’t help but be cautiously optimistic at the sight, and a smile spread across my lips, even though Dad’s face was still sour. “Hey, Dad, are you hungry? Aunt Natalie sent some meatloaf…or Aunt Nikki sent a homemade pizza; we just have to put it in the oven.”
“No,” Dad shook his head, examining himself in the mirror. “It’s awfully quiet. Where’re Junie and Abe?”
“Um…they’re still at Uncle Tay’s…” my voice trailed off; it was the third time in about a week I’d had to remind him.
“Oh. Ok; whatever.”
His response was simple and indifferent, as if he didn’t actually care, but it was also the most he had said in four days. “Okay…” I said, trying to stay positive. “Do you want to get out of the room? We could go play Call of Duty in the living room, or you could spend some time in the music room, or–”
Dad shot me a glare that caused me to stop short. I shifted my weight for an uncomfortable minute before picking up the laundry basket. “Well, I’ll at least leave the door open for you. I’ll be around if you need anything.” I quickly exited, making my way to the laundry room; halfway down the stairs, I hard Dad’s door slam closed.
All of the reference material I had read had warned that some individuals could react with hostility, but they hadn’t been able to prepare me for how the glares and slammed doors would take an emotional toll on me. My heart racing and tears falling, I slammed the laundry basket down on the washer. My phone rang a moment later, and I quickly wiped my cheeks before answering.
“Shep?” my brother’s meek voice filled the receiver. “Can I come home?”
I didn’t know what to tell him—I missed him, even though I sometimes wanted to tape his mouth shut—but I wasn’t ready to be back in charge again. Dad certainly wasn’t in a position to handle the tirades of a teenage girl on top of the hyperactivity of an eleven-year-old boy. I would help if he let me, or would work with me, but he’d have to want to. He’d have to care.
How could I tell my little brother he couldn’t come home because our father didn’t want him to?
“Shep?” the sound of my name cut into my thoughts, dragging me back to the phone.
“Sorry, Kiddo,” I replied. “Look, I know you wanna come home, but you can’t right now. Dad’s still sick, Abe. He needs time to get better.”
There was a long pause while Abe considered what I said. When he finally spoke, I was shocked by his understanding. “OK. I want Dad to get better as fast as he can…but can I at least come get my GI Joe action figures?”
A soft laugh escaped my lips. “How about I pick you up after camp tomorrow and we get your GI Joe’s and some Sonic burgers?”
“Um…ok. But could we get Whattaburger instead?”
“Whatever you want, Buddy,” I agreed. We said our goodbyes and I went back to Dad’s laundry, a little less worried about my brother, at least. It was the best I had felt in so long, and the feeling lasted the rest of the day. I didn’t pay attention when Dad refused the plate of reheated meatloaf and potatoes I offered him at dinner; instead, I just left the food next to the bed and said my goodnights.
When I woke up the next morning, the plate was empty and Dad was in the shower.