i'm sorry i couldn't save you

There was a playfulness in the air among us. Car rides were usually tense as they always found something to fight about - the volume of the music, the tone in his voice or a sudden lane change, but we were at ease. I looked ahead in the rearview mirror making eye contact with my father, we laughed in unison at the silly banter going back and forth. Had that moment happened a second sooner or a second later, perhaps he’d still be here. It happened so quickly, like a papercut you didn’t see coming. Somewhere in that moment clouded by a glimmer of normalcy came the collision. Our car flipped over the side rail and into the river.

I’ve often wondered what I'd do in a plane crash, falling thousands of feet in the air, and screaming is the only thing I could ever envision. But I didn't scream, I just held on best I could as we hit the water. I broke out of the backseat and went first for my mother. I still feel guilty for that instinct but I thought my father could fend for himself. Mom made it out alright and I swam her to the ledge. I noticed my father hadn’t surfaced. I hate her for stopping me. She didn’t want me to go back for him thinking I’d hurt myself. I managed to squirm out from her hold and swam as fast as I could to reach him. The car had sunk considerably and I couldn't open the door. Too much time had lapsed. If I hadn't looked at him that moment, if his eyes had been on the road, he would have seen the car swerve into us, he would have been prepared. I wished deeply with every bruised cell of my body that we had been fighting, that the moment of happiness would have escaped us.

The water had swallowed him up whole. No answers, no apologies, no remorse. It still hurts every single time I cross a bridge. My body freezes up as though to prepare for the impact and I see my father’s face, remember the warmth of his smile, retrace the minutes leading up to that moment and wonder what I could have done to have him here today.