My Big Kahuna goes to the Kingdom

I was at work last night getting ready to leave when the phone rang in the kitchen. Chef Floyd answered it and said it was for me. I've yet to receive a phone call on the restaurant's line before. It was my mother's friend Mandy. She simply said, "You need to come home. Now." The next 30 minutes were completely surreal. I grabbed my knife bag and briefcase and rushed out the back door of the kitchen. It was a cool night with a light rain falling. I walked down the dark alley behind the restaurant towards my truck which waited silently covered in alight mist of water. Water seeped from my eyes and my breath was heavy and fast. I keyed the ignition, put it in reverse, turned the gleaming silver truck around and gunned it down the narrow allow between two ancient brick buildings. I tore down Assembly Street, made the light at Elmwood, made the light at Park Street and accelerated onto I-26. Roaring along at 75mph in a 60mph zone I crossed the Broad River, passed the zoo. I had a hard time catching my breath. My body convulsed with pain as tears streamed down my face and my breath quickened. I had to gulp for air because I was forgetting to breath. I took enormous gulps of air, filling my lungs and exhaling it loudly. I felt as if I might pass out but I kept belting air in and out of my body as quickly as I could. I passed cars in a flash, cursed a stereotypical South Carolina driver, "Pick a lane, Jackass!" This made me laugh and remember some of my dad's choice phrases while driving. More tears came and a flood of memories washed through me. In a matter of moments I exited the interstate at Piney Grove Road. I've driven these roads thousands of times, thousands upon thousands. I'd joy-roded with friends in high school along these roads. Been carted around by my dad. Every corner and bump of pavement seemed to tell a story of my own myth. I ripped won Piney Grove road at 45 mph against my better judgement. Still trained to obey the speed limit by countless Lexington County deputies in my youth. I yielded onto St. Andrews Road and merged into the left lane to make the turn onto Old Bush River Road. The green arrow light illuminated for me and I spun the truck homeward. I passed the cemetery where just yesterday my mother, sister and I had chosen his plot. Down the hillside where in the valley Apple Tree Landscaping sat, a place where my father got me a job when I was 18. Past Saluda Shoals Park and right on the road that used to be wash boarded and dirt and where I used to gun my mother's Mazda as a teen and pretend I was one of the Duke boys. Paved now I Flew along and practically jumped the tracks that carried trains laden with Coal to the power plant at Lake Murray. Winding through my boyhood neighborhood I navigated the turns blindly until at last I practically screeched to a halt in front of my parents' home. I shut off the motor, jumped out of the truck and ran across the front lawn. I threw upon the door and threw my arms around my mother whose face was contorted in heartbreaking grief. I embraced her strongly for several punctuated moments before letting go and rushing down the hallway to my father's bedside. His emaciated frame lay still and peaceful in the bed, shrouded in white linen. His mouth was open and his chest still. He was gone. He'd not been gone 15 minutes by the time I arrived. I threw my arms around him and lavished his face and head with soft kisses saying, "I love you, dad. I love you love you love you love you. You were the best dad a boy could ever have. You sweet, sweet man..." My mother, her friend and the hospice nurses looked on as I leaned over the railing of the hospital bed and pressed my body against the body of the man that gave me life, that gave me everything, that never gave up on me, the man that was always there for me no matter what. He was still warm and I pressed my skin against his and wept.

After several intense minutes where the world swirled in a kaleidoscopic frenzy of emotion and memory I stood up, turned and went out of the room. I tore off my chef jacket and threw it on the floor and flew across the house and out the back door. I practically threw myself on the moist earth in the back yard, my knees sunk into moist soil and I blurted out my words to the Lord. "Thank you God. Thank you for my father's life. Thank you for the incredible gift you gave us. Thank you for ending his suffering. Thank you for allowing him to go peacefully at home. Be with him God. Shower him with love and affection, Lord. And please give me strength to be strong for my mother, my sisters, my father's friends and family. I love you, God." I said these words out loud to the cosmos, the oaks and pines standing above as silent, rain-misted witnesses to my prayer. I lifted myself from the soil, the knees of my chef pants wet with rain and lawn. With my hands I wiped the tears from my face, raised my eyes to the clouds and light filled night sky. I thought of my father, my Big Kahuna, in the kingdom and smiled. I steadied myself in the spirit and a calm settled over my entire being. I re-entered the house and made my way to my mother's side.