On Mourning the Loss of My Father From Behind Bars

By Ryan M. Moser — FROM THE INSIDE

The silence on the other end of the speaker phone is surreal. My biggest fear is realized as I breathe deep and tap my foot on the tiled floor of the chapel office. “Dad,” I say. “l know you can hear me. There are some things I want to tell you… “

My father can’t respond, but l want to believe he can. He’s lying unconscious, brain activity dormant, wires and electrodes connected to his temple and cranium, hair combed just right by my grieving step-mom, gown smoothed across his broad chest, a benign countenance. Machines beep slowly. It’s been 48 hours since his heart stopped. 48 hours since the lack of oxygen to his brain caused him to fall into a coma. 48 hours since I’d learned I will never see my spiritual guide, my mentor, and my paternal guardian again.

The prison chaplain acts as my emissary, sitting quietly in his office as I speak my final words. My family is 800 miles away in the hospital ICU; my youngest brother holds his cell phone to our father’s ear, allowing me to say goodbye. The pain is only surpassed by the surprise of it all. We’d spoke on the phone two days before; had our regular video visitation one-week prior. My dad was an All-American college athlete who exercised regularly and ate well. A popular university professor in his sixties who kept his…