A Man Named Dave

fade away. The last seven days had taken their toll on me. Taking a deep breath, I lowered my finger and backed away. “I pray for you every night, I swear to God, I really do. You may have your papers, your money, whatever. You can hate everybody and everything on this planet, but you lose!”
    Mother stood with her mouth gaping. Before I left her, I clasped my hands together, then made the sign of the cross and leaned toward her ear, whispering, “May God be with you, Mrs Pelzer, for no one else will be.”
     
    Ten hours and three thousand miles later, I returned to Hurlburt Field, in Florida, only to discover my somber mood was no match for that of the base. After a small fleet of specially outfitted C-13O cargo aircraft landed, I learned that the air unit had been directly involved in the ill-fated rescue attempt of the American hostages held in Iran. Five of the eight men who gave their lives when a helicopter accidentally sliced into the C-130 had been assigned to Hurlburt Field. To make matters worse, I learned that the men had died the same day Father did.
    I woke up in the early morning hours the next day to find I could barely breathe – the sides of my throat had swelled to the size of oranges. After a quick examination at the base’s clinic, I was rushed to the hospital and admitted for severe mononucleosis. Since it was the first time I had ever been admitted as a hospital patient, and coupled with the strain of just losing my father, I was terrified. Because of my condition, I was heavily sedated. As the medicine took effect, I was finally able to lose myself and whatever problems I had through sleep.
    During the night, I dreamed I was lying next to Father. I tried to stretch my arm toward him and hold his hand, but I could not budge. I fought to scream out to Father, to say something, anything. But, just like Father, I could not utter a single word.

6 – Regroup
    Because of severe mononucleosis, I was heavily sedated in a hospital bed for over a week. Even after being released, I found myself without a clear-cut purpose for the first time in my life. I was devastated that I had lost my father. My sole objective for the past few years had been to push myself beyond any normal limits in order to save every penny, which would enable me to buy my home, then scour San Francisco until I found Dad. Without him, though, sharing the cabin in the serenity of the redwood trees, fishing at the river, talking over a crackling fire, or anything that might resemble an ordinary family life was a complete delusion.
    As a shivering child in the garage, I had always dealt with my challenges by pushing down my feelings, thinking of what I could learn from the situation, and doing whatever it took to somehow make things better. I had always formulated the ultimate plans and broken them down to the tiniest detail. This strategy helped me prevail over Mother, served as my protective shield while I was in foster care, and propelled me into the air force. As long as I had a chance – a glimmer of hope in a tunnel of darkness – all I had to do was clear my head, rid myself of any self-pity, and forge ahead.
    And yet another part of me felt that my best-laid plans of becoming a knight in shining armor to my father were nothing but an idiotic pipe dream. Since Father and I spent so little time together during his lifetime, we were obviously not that close. But I had always believed that if I could put all the large-scale pieces in place, I could smooth out the minor details of a relationship later. This delicate process had become a guilt-filled obsession. How dare I go to the beach with my air force friends, buy records or even clothes while Father was out in the cold somewhere. It had gotten to the point that I never did anything beyond waking up, working my tail off, returning to the barracks to catch a bit of sleep, then repeating the cycle the next day. Whenever I had a day off, I’d simply sleep in, watch television, or read. To do anything more meant taking money away from my goals. Yet, I had to admit to myself, it was also because of my lack of social skills, taking a chance at making a jerk of myself in front of people. Even as a young man in my early twenties, I’d continue to say the wrong things at the wrong time, and whenever I became nervous, I dug a deeper hole by stuttering uncontrollably.
    By focusing on my future, I was able to reject the present.
    Months dragged on, and I came to realize that I had used