All week long I’ve been searching for something or maybe it’s someone, I’m not sure. That’s the fun of the search, looking under every rock, peeking around each corner hoping that this time will be the Grail. I guess that makes me the Fisher King, a guy wounded by some circumstance that has left him waiting for the curse to be lifted, the land once again shown to be fertile.
I started writing about the results of all the medical exams, but got scared. My fingers were paralyzed because my brain couldn’t handle seeing the words in front of me. Knowing what has to be said, but hoping that someone else would write them, my search for Percival leading me all over the place.
There are so many versions we heard as kids, Cinderella looking for her Prince, The Little Mermaid being the reverse situation when you sit down and think about it. Tales of someone coming into your life and changing the smallest of perceptions, but having a profound effect in how you look at everything. Percival was supposed to utter a few words to bring the Holy Grail it’s mystical powers. The Fisher King healed, the kingdom by extension productive and content.
It’s been adapted many times in so many different stories. Disney’s “The Sword in the Stone”, a young boy fighting his lowly place in society to become one of Arthur’s Knights. Robert Redford’s character in “The Natural” sweeps in to save a baseball team on the brink of utter failure. His bat “Wonderboy” emblazoned with a lightening bolt swinging for not only the lights, but the stars.
All this week I’ve been trapped in my own head. Not a good thing unless I’m there because of some work issue. Words like metastasis and differential diagnosis having blocked out an overwhelming amount of the conversation that followed. I honestly don’t know what I told them in response. The timetable for things seems to have taken a step forward and now I hear the footsteps chasing me just a bit louder than I did at the beginning of the week.
My sorrow about Father’s Day has pushed that set of circumstances out. For reasons that are long and hard, I thought my daughter was the embodiment of Percival. Just her existence allowed me to heal in a way that few other things were ever going to be able. Not just a chance to heal the past, but to influence the future in a hopeful, positive manner. With every commercial, news article, mention of the day my head hangs just a little lower. More so than anything the doctors have said.
I remember what it was like to have someone redirect my thoughts, open the world to possibility. I lost them both in just a few months separation. That is what hurts about relationships ending, especially long ones, wondering if the dreams were yours or shared.
My search for Percival needs to continue. Not a White Knight on the shiny steed, but that reason that makes things clearer. It doesn’t have to be a person, it could be an idea. Much like the idea of who a little girl might have been each day as she continued to grow.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fifteen Credits.”