My sister posted a picture on Facebook last night of Dad after having visited the folks and I instantly felt the time was short.
But he’d hung on for so long and surprised us all, I reminded myself, not wanting to hear it.
I woke up in the morning with a conversation with Richard about booking a flight without delay to go see him again.
And then the phone rang.
My sweet father–nobody could laugh like my dad, nobody loved a pun or any kind of fine wordsmithing like my dad, nobody cheered on their kids like my dad–had quietly slipped away from those scarred, broken lungs some time in the night. At home.
I’m so happy for him that he doesn’t have to fight for every breath anymore.
But. But. But… I never was going to be ready.
The funny part is that my little sister married off one of her sons last weekend and had told Dad that sorry, he was not allowed to die till that was over, she just could not handle one more thing right now and too many people’s travel plans were too set in stone for that.
He’s the kind that would enjoy a good guffaw over that and then say with a twinkle in his eye, Yes, dear. And then crack up again.
And now they’re all freed up.
And so is he.
Love you forever, Daddy.