The let go

Billy had served in the army, and at the age of fifty-five, he retired and lived alone in a small apartment. He had lost his wife ten years ago while he was away on a mission, thus, he wasn't home to see his wife pass away neither was he home for her burial. It wasn't until two years later, when he had returned from his mission that he got the news of his wife's demise. His children hated him for it and he couldn't blame them. He hadn't fulfilled his duties as a father and a husband and he wasn't even there to see them grow up. He swore to live in regrets for his actions and when he called out to his children and they refused to see him, he decided to let them be.

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Billy woke up feeling a stab of pain in his head. He rubbed his temples and got out of bed, then he strode into the bathroom and poured water on his face. After he had wiped his face with a towel, he walked into his kitchen, opened the cupboard and took out a small bottle with pills inside. He ran the faucet and got water into a cup, then he took the pills. After taking the medicine, he held tightly onto the sink and closed his eyes.
A few moments later, the pain in his head was gone and he left the kitchen, walked into his sitting room and sighed as he ran his hands on the photos of his wife and children that hung from the wall.

After dressing up, Billy drove his truck to the hospital. He had set an appointment with the doctor because of his recent illnesses.

"Mr Billy, you came." The doctor greeted as Billy walked into his office. They shook hands and Billy sat across from him.

"Are the test results ready?" Billy asked.

"Yes, they are. I'm afraid, I'll have to ask you some questions." The doctor said.

"Am I dying?" Billy suddenly asked the doctor.

"No, Sir. At least, not yet. I just need to be sure of some things." The doctor said in response.

Billy stared hard at the doctor for a while, he shrugged his shoulders and motioned the doctor to go on with his questions.
"How is the headache this days?" The doctor asked him.

"It's slightly getting worse and unbearable." Billy replied and went ahead to tell him of the throbbing pain he had felt earlier in the morning.

"Are there any nightmares?" The doctor asked him again.

"Well, it's the same as it has always been. What's with all the questions? What's happening to me?" Billy was becoming uncomfortable with the questions.

"Mr Billy, I'm sorry to break this to you, but you have Alzheimer's disease and you're getting to the final stage. Sometime from now, your hands might begin to quaver and you'll gradually lose your memories..." The doctor blabbed on but Billy stopped him midway.

"Can you calm down for a second? You keep going on and on and you wouldn't even stop to catch your breath." Billy rebuked the doctor.

"You could die from this, Sir." The doctor said in completion of the statement Billy had cut short.

Billy stared at the doctor for a long time and without saying anything in response, he stood to his feet and exited the doctor's office, then he got on his truck but he did not drive home. He drove to the cemetery where his wife had been buried.

"Lydia, after all this time, I'm finally coming home to you." He sniffled. " John and Elma haven't forgiven me my sins and it's alright. I've spent all these years hoping to have one good moment with them, but I guess we don't always get what we want. I can't let them see me this way." He sobbed and rubbed the stone which had the engraving of his wife's name.

When Billy got back home, he packed a bag and took the photos of his wife and children, then he wrote their names on it.

"I can at least, hold unto this." He said to himself and placed the photos into the bag he had packed.

He thought of his children. They hadn't been in touch with him since their mother passed and he had no idea if they would want to see him again if he called for them. He drove to Elma's house and from his rearview mirror, he saw her yell at her kids to get into the house. He smiled to himself.
"You're just as fierce as your mother." He said and drove away.

Billy hoped that the children will have a thought of him and maybe visit his house. He hoped they'd forgive his unjust behavior towards them and he prayed that they lead a happy life.
He decided to move out of the apartment and take with him, the memories of his wife and children. It was a long goodbye for him and he felt worse since he couldn't say anything to his kids. He took a paper and wrote a letter, saying his farewells to his kids.

'My dearest children...' He wrote.

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