Apathy is like an airless room

devoid of height, depth, and width.

That is what I wanted to feel—nothing.

The yelling and screaming from her disappointments

needing it to stop.

Walking away, done, let the chips fall where they may—silence.

The phone rings. It was not intended for me

a mistake—a misdial.

Yet it was for me—my dad.

Do not worry, she will not wake up, do not come.

Continuing to drive in the opposite direction—away

keeping my plans for the day.

Her words resonating in my head—“I was there for my mom…”

Arriving she was awake and panicked.

I took a seat beside her.

A morning of apathy became an afternoon of releasing anger and

forgiveness

Air slowly drifting into the room.

Exchanging smiles of love and clutching hands

and in her last breath,

restored love, forgiveness, and empathy.

Her airless shell remained.