Memories a Crime of the Heart

By Michael Wayne

This is a poetic diary of a man who at a young age experienced several life changing events that altered his future traumatically. These events set the stage for what would be an enduring life for this man, full of sadness with moments of great joy and inner clarity.

It is a story revealing his heart and sole with each word written; opening up his life to his children and others so they might better understand him and how he thinks and feels; before, during and after challenging moments in his life odyssey, in hopes that they may learn from his mistakes and make better choices in their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 7, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462819546

Book preview

PROLOGUE

This is a poetic diary of a man, who, at a young age, experienced several life-changing events that affected his future traumatically. These events set the stage for what would be an enduring life for this man—full of sadness—with moments of great joy and inner clarity.

It is a story revealing his heart and soul with each word written—opening up his life to his children and others so they might better understand how he thinks and feels before, during, and after challenging moments in his life’s odyssey, in hopes that they may learn from his mistakes and make better choices in their lives.

He tells how events experienced during his life changed him, affected his character and altered the paths he might have taken. Showing everyone that we are all basically the sum total of our experiences in life—that our spirit can endure the worst life can throw at us, making each victory, no matter how small, a step forward.

It is a story put together by a layman. There will be no fancy words used to try and impress the readers. Those who read it must keep in mind that this book was not intended to be a literary work of art. It was written from the heart by a man who wanted his children to have something to remember their father by and help them better understand the events that made him who he is.

To those who read this book, the author hopes you get the gist of what he is trying to convey. He wishes he could have been more prolific, but alas, it was not to be. With that said, he still hopes that after reading this book, the readers will feel something—be it sadness, happiness, indifference, or just gratefulness for their own lives.

The stories within were gathered through years of life experiences and observations written down and put away, only to be found years later—recalling memories thought lost in time never to be relived—some extremely painful, some overwhelmingly joyful, and some surprisingly indifferent.

Everyone has a story to tell—each as enduring as the ones you will read in-between the covers of this book. It is hoped that the reader will find something in the passages that will jog their memories, allowing them to remember the good, the bad, and the in-between. Giving them a second chance to deal with, and perhaps put to rest, past events that haunt their lives, and especially to relive something forgotten that brought happiness to their life.

To all, I hope you enjoy what you are about to read or, at least, have a good laugh at some bad poetry. God bless you all!

1

The Shadow of Death

Like most young adults just about to turn seventeen years old, my time was not spent thinking about the future or death. It was spent on more self-indulgent activities—like where was I going to take my date, what was I going to wear, or how far would my date let me go before she said no? I had never given any thought to life, career, marriage, family, or anything of substance for that matter—especially what type of education I might need or how I would get that education. I never practiced good study habits and never quite grasped what my teachers were trying to teach me. Nor did they, or anyone, make an effort to help me. I guess they all thought I operated too far out of the box for their liking. It was pretty obvious to anyone who knew me in the Sixties that I was not going to be that person who would solve all the world’s problems.

My parents had always provided me with food, a place to live, and security. I relied on them for almost everything that had to do with responsibility. I showed no signs of ever being or becoming a responsible person. I was very self-indulgent. I’m sure my parents must have been concerned about that, but they never said anything to me. I wish they had. Looking back on it now, they must have thought there would be time to teach me about life. But on May 29, 1969, that time ran out, and my world changed forever.

I worked at Six Flags Over Texas—just a summer job while school was out so I’d have money to play. I had just arrived home from work. It was past midnight, perhaps closer to 1:00 a.m. Dad was not home yet. He and two friends were out hunting. I wanted to see him before I went to sleep because I was so proud of myself. I had been given a promotion that day, and I wanted to tell him about it. I was getting dressed for bed when someone started beating on the front door of my parent’s house. I opened the door, and standing there were my father’s hunting buddies. One was extremely distraught and talking so fast that I could not understand him. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over to where my father’s El Camino was parked.

I looked in the back, and lying there on his stomach was my father. He was not moving. I jumped in the back and tried to roll him over. My heart was beating so fast I thought I might pass out. I still had no idea what was wrong. He was a big man—240 pounds—and I weighed maybe 130 pounds soaking wet. It took everything I had to move him. Thinking back on it now, I wished I hadn’t. Because even now—these many years later—I can still see him, lying there in my arms, dead.

By a freak accident, he had been shot in the neck and upper chest by a 12-gage shotgun at close range. I didn’t know what to do. I was beside myself. I just looked at him for a while in a state of shock. I was crying. Then I thought, I need to get Mom. She was still in bed! So I jumped out of the truck and went into the house. Mother was getting out of bed. The noise we had made woke her up.

With dad’s blood on my hands and arms, I ran into her room like it was some kind of dream and looked at her. My tears half blinded me, but I could see in her eyes that she saw the fear and pain in mine. She asked what had happened. I told her that Dad had been shot and was lying in the truck outside. She started crying and running to him. When she saw him, she lost herself. It took me and one of the men to get her into the car. I told the men to take Dad and Mother to a hospital. (To this day, I don’t know what possessed the two men to bring Dad to the house after the accident rather than taking him straight to a hospital. Panic and fear, I guess.)

They left and I walked back into the house. I don’t know why I did not go with them. I guess I didn’t want to accept the fact that Dad might be dead. Or maybe, I thought if I stayed home, everything would be OK, and they would both come walking back into the house at any time. I sat down on the couch in silence for what seemed an eternity. Several times, I got down on my knees and prayed to God to save him. My prayers were not answered. Dad was buried a few days later. He was only thirty-eight years old.

The Shadow of Death is slow

and persistent.

It follows us through life

no matter what we do

or where we go.

We know not where or when

it will overtake us

nor how or why.

But when it does,

lives are lost

and loved ones are gone forever.

Leaving those who remain

wondering

should we be taking

our greatest gifts

Love and Life

for granted?

Shouldn’t we, while we are alive,

treat everyone we meet

with respect and compassion?

For who knows if that will be

the last time we see each other again.

I believe we have only one chance at this life. It should be lived in such a way that when death does confront us face to face, we can stand without fear, our head held high knowing our life was not lived in vain.

The sudden death of my father was the first time that I had to face life for what it was. I find now that I compare my life’s problems to that night’s experience. In doing so, I usually find that whatever the problem is, it is not so bad after all. The only thing that could be worse than that night would be for me to outlive my children or grandchildren. I pray that never happens.

My sister died when I was very young. I did not get to know her, nor had anyone ever taken the time to tell